This is the part of the story where a striking guitar would come slapping in with quick, staccato hits and a wah pedal giving it all the atmosphere of a high action porn flick from the 70s. A sudden flash from the horns ensures that you are aware of a triumph beyond the exhilarating tension. A steady drum beat keeps everything rolling with an energetic intensity.
Whilst all of this is happening, our so-called hero would be presented to us in a highly sepia-fied montage of quick action cuts that cement his heroism and determination in both catching the so-called bad guy and raising a toast to his colleagues.
Finally, the fast-paced music would strum out its relieving climax to the image of our hero striding up the steps to the police station alongside their partner and with a nod they enter the double doors and our narrative launches.
At least, that’s how this story might begin if it were presented to you on a television set and involved someone entirely unlike PC Percy Perkins and set in a completely alternate location to his home town in Cornwall. But this is not TV, and this story does follow PC Percy Perkins. And so, Percy slowly toddled up the steps of the police station where he worked to start his day; no partner in tow and accompanied not by music but by the vicious yelling of the hovering seagulls screaming abuse like, ‘Squeal piggy’.
PC Percy Perkins is a gentle-mannered copper - that is, policeman. He’s a product of his environment; a public servant fashioned by disciplining teenagers that he has accosted outside of Sainsbury’s into handing over the fizzy cola bottles they’ve shoved into their pockets to the point of overflowing. For all of the public funds wasted on Percy’s pay packet, he performed his largely useless duties with unsquashable pride.
It was a pretty town on the seaside named Falmouth that Percy and his colleagues were tasked with patrolling to serve and - when truly pushed - to protect.
It was morning. PC Percy Perkins stepped out of the police station to embrace the clear skies and magnificent sunshine with a pained wince. He breathed in the possibilities of the day ahead and as he came onto the road, he stopped and looked both ways. To his left the road led up a hill and over the crest lay the centre of the town. To his right the road wound along the water and into another village.
If Percy had been able to see over the crescent of the hill to his left he would have seen an elderly lady named Jemima Bemumbaclart making her way along the pavement wearing a many-tiered, pink coat made of a strange material that flapped in the wind.
The old lady hobbled her way along the road narrowing her eyes at every junction, seeming to judge the very concrete she walked upon. Were anyone there to witness her they might have remarked at the raw mischief emanating from the pores in the skin of this elderly lady.
Of Course, PC Percy Perkins could not see over the hill at the old lady nor did he decide to begin his patrol in that direction.
Instead, in the same way that all great adventures begin for a man; Percy turned right and walked down the road.
In walking right, Percy had found himself patrolling the small seaside village of Penryn. It sat next to Falmouth the way an angry wart sits on the side of a headmistress's nose. Now, that may sound offensive to head mistresses, the people of Penryn, and possibly also to warts and so I should clarify: “Sits next to Falmouth the way an angry wart sits on the side of a headmistress’s nose” was the official slogan given to the town and it was written beneath the village’s name on the large sign welcoming drivers into Penryn.
The possible offense of this description had not gone unfelt by the locals and the town council had held many meetings to replace it. Unfortunately, the council was chiefed by a certain Ned Blattenhatter. Ned was a miserable man who was incredibly angry with the simultaneously enraged wart on the outside of his left nostril - and he’d be damned if he was going to go through it alone.
At one town meeting the vote to replace the town’s slogan had been split down the middle. The arranged council were arguing amongst themselves in an attempt to persuade at least one person to their respective side when Ned suddenly screamed in anguish, halting the room’s debate in the process as those gathered there stared at him stunned. The silence was pierced by a tiny, but evidently infuriated, voice which seemed to be saying, ‘Keep the slogan you damned heathens. Keep it I say’. Everyone was shocked by the miniature yet abrasive voice. Searching for the source of the protest they eventually noticed a tiny mouth had formed on top of Ned’s wart and was spluttering pus and obscenities at them. The wart had come to life and swayed the consensus. They never discussed the issue again.
However, this is besides the point - not that there is a point, it is simply besides it.
PC Percy Perkins, or PCP as he was known amongst the people, strolled through the centre of Penryn. He waved at Daisy Phlegm the florist, he smiled at John Pieper the pasty maker, he winked at Terry Titt the newsagent, and he performed a slow cartwheel in front of Graham H. Astonbury the local drunk then blew a raspberry at him. Graham urinated over himself where he lay in response.
Percy stopped to admire Graham’s nobility with a smile and as he watched Graham’s coat turn dark he felt a figure approaching from his side. ‘Ere, PCP. What’s with all this ham going about town the day?’ He turned to face Daisy Phlegm the florist and frowned. ‘Sorry Daisy, I haven’t the faintest what you mean. What’s all this about ham in our town?”
Daisy lifted up her skirt and placed a bunch of petunias that were encumbering her inside so that she could gesticulate her arms rabidly around. ‘Look over there,’ she threw an arm up towards the street which Percy had just walked down. His eyes popped out of his head. The road was littered with ham slices, there were sinews lining the buildings and a traffic jam had built up behind a pile of ham at least 5 foot tall in the middle of the road.
Percy took off his hat and scratched the single hair in the centre of his head. “Well I never. I sure missed that, though I don’t know how.” Percy’s gaze drifted between the various arrangements of ham filling up the long road. ‘Grrrhhhhhhh,’ groaned Graham H. Astonberry. Percy and Daisy nodded solemnly in agreement with his statement.
As the three of them stared at the state of things, a huffing and a puffing sound approached them, getting louder by the second. Percy looked down the road to see his walkie talkie sprinting towards him. As it reached the PC it bent its little legs and leaned down taking in huge breaths. Percy picked it up and poked it firmly in its right eye - a very bloodshot eye - and spoke loudly into its ear. ‘Hello? Hello? What what. PC Percy Perkins here. What’s the situation?”
Percy released the eye of the walkie talkie which blinked quickly before opening its mouth wide. “What? what? Hello. We’ve received a line from Butcher Bill and he’s missing a whole damned pigs worth of ham slices. I don’t suppose you’ve seen or heard anything over in Falmouth’s wart, Perkins?”
Percy shared a knowing glance and a small smirk with the walkie talkie before stabbing its eye again with his forefinger. “I’m on the case, whoever you may be. I believe I have a lead.” Percy let the walkie talkie slip mindlessly from his fingers and it hit the ground with a grunt before dusting itself off and walking away looking miserable.
The PC walked into the road to investigate the huge ham pile that was causing the traffic to build up. He picked up a slice and smelled it at first. Then he licked it. Then he smelled it again. He raised his nostrils into the air and as he rotated his head around his nostril began to vibrate in the direction of Falmouth town. “Gotcha,” he said out loud but very much to himself.
Percy went running off down the road.
Shortly after setting off from Penryn, on the road connecting Falmouth to its wart, the PC’s nose lost its trail. He stopped abruptly and investigated his position. In front of him the road continued to the Police Station and then on to Falmouth. Behind him lay the road to Penryn. To his right was an impassable hillock. And to his left was a small lane leading to the car park of a Pets at Home megastore.
A lightbulb appeared above his head before gravity took its toll and it smashed down onto his helmet. He brushed the glass from his shoulders and followed the lane down to the entrance of the store.
The lights were off inside of the Pets at Home. He peered in through the windows but couldn’t make out anything through the darkness. It seemed that no one was around. He was about to turn and walk away when he noticed a small light flash in the far end of the warehouse. The light quickly turned off again but moments later it turned back on. The light continued to repeat its little jig and so Percy decided to investigate. He found the door locked but reasoned with himself that this grave matter needed to be put to bed. And so he slammed his body against the double doors in front of him.
The door swung open before him and he came crashing inside, toppling over a glass container of exotic frogs. As he slowly rose to his feet the frogs went belching past him into the daylight outside. As the frogs hopped out of the door into their newfound freedom, the last to leave turned its head back towards Percy and it saluted him.
Percy brushed himself down and walked through the rows of animals towards the back of the store where lights were now flickering on and off rapidly, exhibiting something resembling panic.
He passed a sad looking alligator with a tear in its eye. He passed a bear which winked at him then licked its lips. He passed Robert De Niro writing his own name in excrement across the glass of his enclosure.
Finally, Percy reached the back of the store and found the windowed door which revealed the flashing light beyond. A sign on it read, “Staff and Crocodiles Only!”, in big red letters. That’s hardly reassuring, Percy’s brain said. Shush, he responded.
Breathing in confidence and a faint whiff of meat, Percy stepped through the door and looked around. He had to take the details of the room in through brief glimpses as the light continued to flash off and on. It seemed unremarkable. There were tables, chairs, notes, a few computers, some human cadavers, a noticeboard and…
Percy squealed the way his momma taught him to and began hurriedly looking for the light switch so that he could regain control over his vision. He spotted it in the corner and noticed that a long shadow trailed from the switch. Then he followed the long shadow and saw that at the end of that shadow was another, much larger shadow about the size of a man. Percy shrieked once more and turned to run out of the room.
‘Wait!’ a voice shouted after him. ‘PCP? Is that you?’ The lights ceased their flickering and a steady hum illuminated the room in full display. Percy turned, shivers still lining his spine, and faced the man-sized shadow. What he saw was a man in a black uniform and a helmet that looked remarkably like Percy’s own costume.
‘Bloody hell, Constable Haffear. You could’ve given me a hernia you devil. What in the name of Dick Cole are you doing here and why are you messing about with the lights?’
Constable Haffear looked pale as a raw pancake and seemed to be shuddering. ‘PCP, thank Dick Cole it’s you. I was called out to investigate a domestic dispute between two of the staff at this Pets at Home. A croc and a young girl who’d been seeing each other on and off, apparently. When I arrived the manager seemed in a hurry and ran out of the door, leaving me here on my lonesome. I came in here to speak to the staff but there was no-one in here, just…’
The constable stopped speaking and began to shake. His eyes fell upon the bodies with their chests torn open, lying on the table in the centre of the room. Percy walked over and patted the constable on the head. He seemed to relax, sticking his tongue out and panting lightly.
‘It’s alright Haffear, I’m here now. Seems a nasty business afoot here, I mean; what in the blazes has happened to these chaps?’ Percy shook his head and then his face dropped and he abruptly scolded the constable, ‘and what in the Charles Dickens were you doing with the light stupid boy?!’
The constable looked down shamefully. ‘Oh PCP, I’m sorry about that miserable old business. When I got here and saw the bodies, see; I was so frightened all on my own that my body seemed to take on a life of its own. My arm just reached out and started turning the lights on and off. I asked it to stop but it just grinned at me and said, ‘this is right horrorshow me droogy’. We watched an omnibus of Clockwork Orange and Saw at the weekend, it’s my own stupid fault. I know how impressionable my bloody limbs can be, I should have never let him stay up late watching chillers like that. Oh dearie me.’ The constable started muttering to himself and shaking his head.
Percy handed him a tissue with a sneer as Constable Haffear began to whimper and dribble snot from his nostrils. ‘There there, Haffear. Look I think there’s more important matters at hand than your arm’s drama club. There’s murder afoot!”
As he spoke the door swung open and in walked the station’s Police Chief and the Chief Detective. The four of them looked around at each other, nodded at each other and all, except for the sobbing constable, spoke.
‘‘Ello.’
‘‘Ello.’
‘‘Ello.’
‘Waddawee.’
‘Haffear.’
‘Then.’
‘Percy.’
Police Chief Then and Detective Waddawee stepped into the room and examined the bodies. ‘Heard there was a ruckus, should’ve known you two would be involved,’ Detective Waddawee glared at the two constables in turn.
‘Thank you, detective,’ Percy spoke sarcastically. ‘I’ve just arrived on the scene. I’m investigating a case of missing ham from Butcher Bill’s. My leads led me here where I found Constable Haffear here on his own matters.’
The detective scoffed, ‘I’ll have you remember I am a detective, Percy. I’m well aware why you’re both here, that was hardly a difficult deduction. It’s all been written out plainly across multiple pages right above this one. When me and the Chief Inspector read about the bodies in this story we knew this was above your station and our work was required. So what I would really like to know is why in the Devon there are two dead bodies on this table?’ The detective nodded towards the table.
‘Well if you’re so well read sire, then you’ll know that we have no bloody clue. Why don’t you ask them yourself?’
The detective raised an eyebrow at Percy. Then he leaned in and whispered to the body closest to him. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Corpse. Could you please enlighten me as to what you are doing here and how you got to be in this state?’
The four men stood there in silence for a moment and then there was a creaking sound. Slowly the corpse closest to Detective Waddawee lifted itself up onto an elbow and turned to look at him. ‘Finally! I thought no-one was going to ask me. Two whole days I’ve been here, two days!’ The corpse threw its other arm around with weak exasperation. ‘I would love to tell you how I came to be in such a sorry state, detective. I was one of the staff here at Pets at Home, you see.’
‘I see,’ the detective gulped.
‘I worked here for fourteen years. Fourteen years!’ the corpse shouted, spitting out strands of ambiguous flesh as he spoke. The detective’s eyes widened in astonishment and disgust. Chief Then, however, frowned with impatience and gestured towards the corpse. ‘Yes man, go on. Tell us everything.’
‘Fourteen years I worked here and it was fine. Barely a complaint. When we emancipated the crocodiles back in 2012 did I say a word? Of course I bloody didn’t. I thought it was an incredible mistake but I bit my tongue and carried on my work like any employee who values their job should. When we started hiring the bloody crocs in 2015, which we’d only freed from slavery here 3 years prior, did I speak up? No I didn’t. To each his own I said.’
The corpse nodded with what seemed to be a sense of pride. ‘And then, last year when one of the crocodiles was put up for the role of manager I didn’t even mumble at it. He won, of course.’
Percy nodded. ‘Yes I remember it well. The Falmouth Packet were exuberant over the story. They were touting Falmouth as a new wave bastion of equality. It was a pretty spectacular moment.’
The corpse rolled its eyes. ‘Yes, well; It was only the flippin’ crocodiles wasn’t it. We were still enslaving human children for free labour. As if the equality of ancient reptiles is top of our societal inequalities list! I knew women at this very store who were being turned down for jobs because they didn’t wear enough powder, and then we started hiring the bloody crocs!’
Chief Then coughed conspicuously. ‘Okay, we’re all well aware of the complexity in the Crocodile Rights Movement. Please will you get to the part where you were murdered, post sir.’
‘Ah yes. My apologies, my gracious, living audience.’ The corpse nonchalantly flicked away a maggot which had begun crawling out of his exposed right lung. ‘So last year this croc took charge. Everything was fine for a few months. To be honest, the croc seemed a preferable leader to the back-breaking jobsworth we’d had to work under before. Our lunch breaks were extended by 15 minutes, we had new vending machines installed in the staff room full of delicious snacks, and he regularly took us out on a Friday evening for a slap-up meal, all expenses paid.
‘So life was good; really good for a while. Then suddenly we turned up to work one day and Susan Flogganugget wasn’t there. Susan never missed a day's work. She loved coming in and wrestling with the wolves and playing catch with the tigers. After a week, me and the rest of the staff started to get worried. We spoke to the croc boss and he didn’t say a word, they never do. When we asked if he had heard from Susan Flogganugget his eyes just skipped suspiciously around the room, like a toad chasing a fly.
‘Next week, we turn up to work and there’s a new girl just started. Name’s Zanzibar Strepsil, she says. Come to replace Susan, she says. Heard Susan’s gone to Hawaii to start a new life with a saxophonist, she says. Okay, we says.
‘Things are cool again for a while. We keep working and we keep enjoying these new perks of the job under croc control. I was getting pretty fat at this point but what do I care? It’s a good life. I feel like some sort of king being fed so good.
‘Anyways, the months go by. It starts to become a recurring event - people turning up to work one day then disappearing forever the next - but I’d stopped questioning it at this point. It’s funny how quickly you get used to something strange like that when it keeps happening. We even came to expect it. I just switched off after a while.’
The corpse seemed to shudder as though it were letting out tears, though the only thing visible from its eye was a brightly coloured beetle nibbling at the surface of its cornea. The four living men in the room all stood staring at the corpse as it spoke. Its animation and horrifying image was barely a concern to them at this point. They were enraptured by the mystery of the missing people and gazed on with greedy eyes, their minds licking their lips at the knowledge being offered to them. The chief began shaking his head rapidly and asked the corpse if it would carry on its tale to which it solemnly nodded.
‘Two days ago is when I suddenly realised what was going on. What a fool I was! How did I not see it coming? I don’t know. But here I am now. A festering pile of death, far too late to save myself or the others. But I can put a stop to this now. You see, my new curious friends; it was the croc all along! Of course it was. We were blinded by the glut of our own bellies. What we understood to be perks of our new management was in fact the croc feeding us up with the intention of serving us up to his chums!’
The four policemen gasped and enormous shock pushed their bulbous eyes to the limits of their sockets. They then quickly breathed out again upon tasting the foul air which had been circulated by the rotting corpses in the room. The corpse continued talking without noticing the men rasping breath around him.
‘After their release the crocodiles took to the underground for a long while, as you well know. We assumed they just preferred it down there but by Dick Cole we should have known. The Devons! They were plotting their vengeance. After a few years of subterranean life they re-emerged and made their efforts to re-enter society. But their plan all along was to infiltrate society and eat us!’
‘Of course, it’s our own fault. We should have seen it coming. We’d been locking the beasts up for years to poke them and strangle them. To pull at their maws in the name of entertainment. That arsehole Steve Irwin certainly did us no favours.’
The corpse looked around at the four men with all the sincerity that a man making eye contact with only one-and-a-half eyes can. His face became as close to stern as he could manage. His mouth parted in as much as a gaping hole can part.
‘You have to stop the crocs. They’ve made some kind of arrangement with Butcher Bill. They take from the staff here and at various other local pet shops and zoos. They kill us and then they serve our meat out as ham and sell it. The crocodiles buy up most of it but god knows who is unwittingly eating our own kind!’
Chief Inspector Then glanced at the members of his humble force standing around the room and nodded to each of them in turn. They all understood and went jogging out of the door in a line.
“Hey, could you turn the light back out before you go? It’s really hard to fall a-dead with the light on?” No-one heard the corpse. “Owhhh,” he groaned.
The four coppers arrived at the butcher’s shop shortly later and they gathered themselves into a small circle on the pavement a short way up from it.
Chief Inspector Then spoke quietly. ‘Butcher Bill’s in there now. I can see him through the window. He appears to be alone which is good. If this goes south there’ll be no-one to get caught in the crossfire.’
The two constables raised their eyebrows at the chief. ‘Sir?’
‘Oh yes that’s right, neither of you are armed, are you?’ The chief shook his head. ‘Here, both me and Waddawee have spares you can use. But in the name of Dick Cole, be careful with these. They are to be used to force compliance from the subject, not to be fired unless under extreme circumstances.’
The two constables nodded as their new weapons were passed into their hands. Percy weighed the y-shaped stick in his hand, turning it around and surveying the wooden finish. He pulled on the elastic and looked down it, in between the parting branches at the top. ‘Nice,’ he grinned.
‘Okay boys, we need to be careful. We don’t know if Bill has crocs hidden in the back that we’ll have to deal with. Eyes alert. We go in together, we come out together with Bill in cuffs. Now eyes on the storefront and we enter on my say-so.’
The four men sneaked towards the large glass window in front of the store. Bill watched them from inside the store, scratching his head and wondering why the four policemen were prone on the pavement and crawling towards his store in plain sight.
They quickly leapt up and ran into the store in file, aiming their stones at Bill and pulling their elastic tight. The four of them were all shouting words at the butcher so quickly that he couldn’t decipher what any of them were saying individually. Combined it sounded to him like, ‘Hey you you there oi mister hey whoa now better oh you better get on your going down mother hands in the ground now or shoot be sorry and a mighty fine day to you!’
Doing his best to follow all four sets of instructions Bill bent over and raised his legs in the air, standing on his hands and spreading his feet wide to try and show they were unarmed. Chief Inspector Then gestured his chin towards Percy who proceeded to walk behind the counter and placed handcuffs over both of Bill’s ankles.
‘Please read him his rights, Percy.’
‘Butcher Bill, we are placing you under arrest for suspicion of serial murder with intent to distribute illicit materials to unwitting victims. You have the right to remain silent but depending on which jail we decide to send you to it might be a very long ride and so anything you do say may be used to pass the time in conversation with myself or another officer.’
Bill fell to the ground, legs intertwined. Tears were building in his eyes. ‘It was only a matter of time. I knew you’d find out eventually, but you have to believe me I was forced into it. You’ve seen a crocodile’s teeth? Imagine having them around your neck. That’s what they did to me. They said I had to prepare their meat whenever they asked or else the jaws would come snapping down. I had no choice.’
Chief Inspector Then snorted. ‘That may well be the case, Bill. That’s for a judge to decide. You’ll have your time to spit. For now, you’re going down. We’re putting a stop to this abhorrent business and ensuring no poor soul ever walks home with a packet of wafer thin human meat again.’
‘No, no, no! I would never sell it to another human. I knew exactly which row was pork and which wasn’t. I have plenty of regular crocodile customers and they’re the only ones I gave the human meat to, I swear it. I was made to do it, I’m not a monster,’ Bill blubbed.
‘We’ll deal with the crocodiles in due time, Bill. We’ve got to take you away. You know that.’
Detective Waddawee elbowed the chief and leaned in towards him. ‘Chief, you remember that crocodiles aren’t under our jurisdiction. We have no legal basis to go any further than this. People are going to want someone to be held accountable for this. We’re going to have to send Bill down. He’ll take the bullet, so to speak’
The chief fired daggers at the detective with his eyes. ‘Shut up Waddawee, let the man have some hope. He doesn’t need to know. And what do you know about bullets?’
Detective Waddawee from his forehead and rubbed it with defeated contempt then waved at Constable Haffear to take Bill outside. ‘Come on Haffear, let’s get him down to the station and get in touch with a pen.’ The two men filed out.
As the Chief turned to leave Percy reached an arm out to pull him back and asked, ‘Chief, one moment please. Though the meat being sold here was clearly illicit and wrapped up in some deeper, troubling business... there is still a matter of my investigation to clear up. Be they slices of man or not, the butcher shop was robbed this morning.’ Percy then scratched the single hair on his chin. ‘Though come to think of it, why would Bill phone it in, knowing the chances that any investigation could lead to him being found out?’
The Chief’s lips parted and a lit cigar slowly slid out until it sat there, perched and puffing in his mouth. He took it in his hand. ‘I don’t know Percy, and frankly I don’t care. Maybe the guilt got to him. Perhaps he wanted to be found out and thought we could help him with the crocs. Whatever happened to the missing meat, it doesn’t matter now.’
Percy’s eyes fell to the floor and he nodded. The Chief walked out. Percy’s spirit felt unwell. The wrapping up of the developing investigation didn’t satisfy him whilst his initial search was left unfinished. A man of honour; Percy felt it was his duty to close his case. He puffed up his chest, lifted his shoulders up high, and allowed his sullen look a hint of determination. .
Then his eyes landed on a piece of ham lying on the counter and he quickly deflated. Looking around he saw he was alone and an overwhelming urge overtook him. He reached down, popped the wafer thin slice of ham into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. It tasted good. His head rotated and his frown quite literally turned upside down. I wonder what that was, he thought. ‘Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter what happened to the ham anymore,’ he decided and whistled nonchalantly walking out of the shop to join the Chief playing hopscotch in the road.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town; Jemima Bemumbaclart sat down at her dinner table. Her coat hung on a hook behind her and it had gained some sizable holes in its strange, frilled fabric since we last saw her. Where the gaps were revealed in the coat, a web of hooks could be seen attached to each other in what was quite clearly a framework for the strange fabric. In fact, on closer inspection, sharp metal points could be seen sticking out of the whole coat, which seemed to reflect the light in the room with a slimy sweat.
The phone attached to the wall next to her started ringing. Jemima picked it up and gave it a hullo. A frail voice spoke down the line in whispers. Jemima wheezed, ‘You say they’ve taken Butcher Bill into custody?’
The voice spoke again and Jemima’s eyebrows raised. ‘Have you heard what he’s done?’
The voice responded with a negative and Jemima chewed her lip. ‘And what about us then?’
Whatever the voice said, Jemima’s chest heaved with relief. ‘Okay. You enjoy now, Nina. I’ll speak to you soon.’ Jemima hung up the phone to her friend Nina, a peculiarly clumsy woman who lived in Penryn. Jemima and Nina were incredibly close and did everything together. The neighbourhood would gossip that the two of them were in a lesbian relationship. But then, the neighbourhood would gossip about a lot of things.
Nina had a habit of dropping everything about her person whenever she had anything to hold. She had become notorious with her husband for attending to the shopping and then arriving home with two empty plastic bags. Her husband would then be tasked with walking all the way back to the shop and collecting everything that Nina had dropped in hedges, on roads, and sometimes into children’s mouths on her way home.
The neighbourhood would gossip that Jemima and Nina were in the business of petty crime. But then, the neighbourhood would gossip about a lot of things.
As Jemima settled into her seat she smacked her lips together, wet with satisfaction, and her glazed eyes rolled over the stack of ham on the plate before her.