Kowalksi’s Lament, part 2, a Hazard of Parsnips mini story

Goddamit. Damn it.

Kowlaksi had pinned all his hopes on Sherby57 and now he was wondering why he saw fit to do so.

Ever since Kowalski had become conscious of being drawn to DI Ian, he had been in a maelstrom of despair that only Amaranto clothing can abate. Yes. The only thing that Kowalski had found that regulates his emotions is Amaranto/Papaya Clothing, Matalan’s own brands. That and his Daewoo Matiz. Sure, the other police officers in New York and St. Helen’s found it a bit fruity and continental, but there was no telling what Kowalski might do in a fit of road rage. He played it safe and drove the soothing Matiz. Kowalski was certain that a strapping hunk like him could do some serious damage with a Kowalski tongue-lashing  and he wasn’t that much of a loose cannon that the authors previously suggested he was. Chief Inspector Acorah had repeatedly informed Kowalski that he wasn’t too big to be spanked across his knee. CI Acorah’s secretary and guiding light, Sam, would whisper inaudibly that it was no longer appropriate to say those sort of things and remember what happened to Inspector Saville.

Kowalski had ‘rocked’ up to Sherby 57’s late at night to seek his advice. Kowalski had heard that what Sherby57 didn’t know about love, Haddaway could only ask questions about. Sherby 57 had spent a large part of his young manhood under the tutelage of ‘Style’ and ‘Mystery’ the reknown pick up artists (PUA) and had cultivated a PUA character of his own (Casio’)who could pick up a girl before you could say ‘playboy bunny tattoo’.  Style and Mystery had heard that St. Helen’s and Widnes had the most rocking potatoes and hot bitches and had made a bee line for this chick-topia. There they had ‘hooked up’ (not had sex with) Sherby 57 and they had rewarded his knowledge of the area with dark arts in cat-string-theory.

Kowalski began hammering on Sherby57’s door. It had come off the hinges and was beginning to stick within the door frame. Sherby stood there benignly as this hulking Yank began fixing the frame and sanding the edge of the door.

During this spot of spontaneous DIY Kowalski’s story came tumbling out between sobs. Sheila, crude drawings, Der Naughty Kitty, Clarence and Ian. Sherby 57 knew all of this as he had partly written the story in the pub with World of Sheds but he kindly heard out the sobbing man until all that was left was a dried up husk. Sherby had left it there around breakfast time as he couldn’t stand shredded wheat and delighted that it might torment the post man as he was morbidly scared of Donald Trump. Kowalski was still standing next to it with his hammer and sandpaper in hand looking hopeful.

Sherby cocked his head and leg to one side as he listened intently.

“Listen Kowalski”

Kowalski drew near. So near that Sherby could smell Kowalski’s scent. It was ex-clam-ation! which was quite a feminine scent. Sherby liked it so he wasn’t going to judge, but he liked Angel by Thierry Mugler better.

“there’s only one way to turn you back on to women as you hope”

“yes” breathed Kowalski and closed his eyes ready to receive the learned information he craved.

Sherby57 took this to mean that Kowalski was trying to keep flatulence from escaping. So he lit at match and shooed his cats away from the door so Kowalski couldn’t blame them.

“Listen, Kowlaski, you’ve got to read fifty shades of grey. The whole friggin’ trilogy. It’s the most erotic thing ever written. That is your only hope. Either that or ‘Riders’ by Jilly Cooper. It’ll really have you fancying the birds if that’s what you want”.

“yes it is”

“It’s alright to fancy fellas Kowalski. I mean I don’t and wouldn’t, but it’s alright for you to”

Kowalksi glowered at Sherby and stormed off in the Matiz. He drove straight to the Matalan in Wigan and emerged only when the security guards roughly manhandled him out.

To be continued.

Hazard of Parsnips: Chapter 16


Dear Diary

O my head is in such a whirl! I can scarce contain my ebullience. I feel like a rabbit with a balloon! Oh, diary (can I call you Dave?) I hardly know where to start. So many conflicting feelings, so many thrilling, stomach churning thoughts occupy my consciousness, they tumble out like corks out of a tombola.

Dave, the incident room has been full of heavy tension for so long. Kowalski and I have been glowering at each other for many weeks like tigers circling each other, ready to rip out each other’s gizzards. Ever since Kowalski alighted on these shores, I’ve felt him to be watching me like a solemn hawk. Often, I would find myself on the phone, following a promising lead as to the whereabouts of the elusive Crapper, and I would look up from my notebook, to see his fierce amber eyes fixed on me from above the puzzling Panini sticker album (I wonder if he’d swap me a Peter Crouch or A Zooby Zaretta?). I’d look away quickly, feeling a sense of shame, and my stomach would lurch from the threat.

One day, events unfolded in their mundane usual way. Acorah stared at Sam’s arse and pretended to be American when Kowalski was around, Kowalksi spend his usual abnormal amount of time reading the paper with his mouth set in a firm, grim line and I telephoned the wife after some particularly bothersome thoughts that I experienced. She reassured me, as she usually does. What a girl. I might take her home something nice. Maybe a farm store pizza for tea tonight. Might need to grate a bit more cheese onto it. She sometimes complains they’re al bit threadbare, which I don’t necessarily agree with . Then the phone rang. DC Bottle answered, as I was still a bit unsteady. As I looked up from my notepad where I had been sketching Garfield, I noticed the colour had drained from DC Bottle’s normally green face.

“Chief” he quivered, voice breaking slightly as he held out the telephone.

Kowalski was eyeing me, giving me the ups and downs. I felt compelled to deal with this in the most authoritative manner I could muster. Wish I had some brave powder.

“Hello, Detective Inspector Ian Detective Inspector”

A bolshy, yet exultant voice met my name based statement.

“Ian! It’s Eileen! He’s gone! He’s  still alive and he’s escaped!”

I stood up for effect, but it was good news as well, to be fair.

Despite this, a thrill shot through my usually languid, crumpled body as Kowalski looked over at my form. That got your attention, you arrogant Yank. Standing up, I mean. Must try that again.

“OK, OK, slow down” I begged her and her words tumbled out insensibly peppered between delirious laughter and tears of relief. Get the fuck on with it, sister. I’ve got criminals to catch.

“Ian, oh Ian. Clarence has escaped from the Kitty. He’s wrote me a letter, Ian, there’s so many clues my brave, brave stud has left us, we are sure to find this fiend and stop him before he commits any more atrocities on the sturdy of limb and the ferociously virile”

By this point, I’d put the histrionic mare on speaker phone and at this last comment Kowalksi looked decidedly scared. I could tell he was fearing his own personal safety from DNK. Lord Above, did this yank’s arrogance know no bounds, I thought. No. Came the all too forthcoming answer. This also came from my brain as this was very much an internal dialogue. Oh, Dave, I don’t need to tell you. You understand.

“We’ll be straight round” I informed Miss Bilton. I could feel the sickening drop of adrenaline coursing through the rollercoaster of my blood stream. I realised I needed a massive dump. Damn adrenaline.

As I exited the shitter, Kowalski was loitering around the door, like a bad smell around a worse smell.

“I’m comin with you” he growled.

“fine” I snapped, “but we’re taking my car. I ‘aint gettin’ in no Daewoo Matiz”.

Kowalksi looked a bit put out, but nodded his assent. “I’ll drive” he conceded he leaned towards me.  I could feel his hot breath on my moustache, and he looked into my eyes for just too long. I became uncomfortable and wondered what he was doing. His gaze was unwavering and my heart started thudding like some unholy workmen around my wrecked heart. I was frozen, light a moth in the headlights or a rabbit to a flame and I stared back, not daring to move. My head was spinning, I didn’t know whether he was going to headbutt me or grab me by the throat. He must really love thatMatiz.

Then his hand shot into my trouser pocket. I felt sick. What the fuck???

His gaze was steady, he never tore his eyes from mine.

A small gasp escaped from my lips, I surprised myself. What was he going to do in my trouser pocket, and how long was he going to do it for?

“Long enough”, my brain answered back. I silently told it to shut up. Thoughts do tend to be silent Dave, as they are largely internal experiences.

A slow smile spread across Kowalksi’s face as he drew back from me. He threw something sparkling in the air and caught it in his hand. The keys to my Bedford Rascal.

“let’s go” he said

I gingerly followed him, the thud of blood still loud in my ears. I’d have a chance to recover from our alarming encounter on the way to Bilton’s.

The Rascal rocked like a rollercoaster car as Kowalski jumped in. I wrapped my seatbelt around me, and grabbed the bottom of the seat as if to brace myself. Kowalski fired up the Rascal and flew out of he car park. I had to call him back to get back in the van. Sadly, I couldn’t fly. This crazy yank.

When he got in the van, he threw the engine into first gear and screeched away. His command over the back roads of St Helen’s was so surprising for this new Yorker. Despite the many road works and traffic jams, he threw the car down back roads and across cuttings, like a local.

Kowalski thew the Bedford Rascal around the sexy curves of the st. Helen’s countryside. I found myself wondering what it would be like if Kowalski was following my curves as closely.  I bet it feels amazing, like when you got for a wee when you’ve been busting.  The cab of the rascal was close. Closer than Close. Too close for comfort and inevitably Kowalski’s masterful forearm brushed against my aching thigh whilst he ground the gears.  A jolt of wanton electricity shot through my frame and a shot I sly glance at Kowlski’s face. His rugged visage showed no emotion, as usual. I felt totally betrayed by my own emotions, and pictured myself as a gibbering, shaking, wreck. “Compose yourself, Ian. Compose yourself” I chastised myself. I desperately scrabbled for my faculties. Despite being nowhere near a university.

Soon, all to soon we were drawing close to Bilton’s estate.  I couldn’t help but feel both relieved and disappointed simultaneously, anxious that my outward appearance did not reflect the jumble and chaos crashing against my ribs but I yearned for this journey to go on forever,  at full throttle. To watch this man, to feel this… this, frisson.  It was surely an agony of ecstasy. An ecsony.

I couldn’t help but wonder how I would ever sit straight in the driver’s seat ever again feeling the imprint Kowalski’s impudent buttocks had made in the leatherette. The little lady would think it was her lucky day. The last time she had been even approaching ‘lucky’ in the ‘bumpy cuddles’ department was 5 years ago after the Rainford Turnip festival. The smell or cooked turnips is just so arousing, isn’t it Dave?

No sooner had we ground to a halt on Bilton’s gravel , she tumbled out of the door, breathless and gasping. She needed to work on her circus skills, that’s for sure. Stupid girl. She was gurning all over her stupid face and hugging Kowalski with her stupid arms.