Horse's Arse by Charlie Owen Page B

all officers that senior
officers' toilets were for their exclusive use only - except in an emergency
when care should be taken to ensure that they were flushed thoroughly.
        Having
fouled her toilet for the second morning running, Psycho hurried back
downstairs and put the spare key back in the enquiry office safe.
        'I
hope you washed your hands,' said the Blister, hardly glancing up from the magazine
she was reading. She'd seen it all before. Psycho cackled insanely and ran out
to the back yard to get his car and be as far from the scene of the crime as he
could be when the shit hit the fan, quite literally.
        The
Blister continued to read until she heard the front doors to the enquiry office
open. She looked up to see Rosie, one of the local tramps, peering balefully
through the reinforced glass window that separated the public area from the
office itself. Rosie was about sixty, completely bald and toothless, wearing
four layers of clothing and accompanied by her ever-present shopping bag on
wheels. She was also hugely incontinent and generally had an exclusion zone of
several feet around her that only the unwary dared to violate. She'd spent last
night in a shop doorway and was particularly ripe this morning. The Blister
detected the smell through the glass and wrinkled her nose.
        'Morning,
Rosie, what can I do for you?' she asked without getting up.
        'Any
chance of a cup of tea? I'm fucking freezing,' gummed the old woman. She knew
the Blister was a bit of a soft touch, unlike most of the male officers who
generally hurled abuse at her before hoofing her out of the nick on the end of
a boot.
        'Yeah,
sure, but outside, OK?' said the Blister, getting to her feet and going into
the telephone room where all the tea-making stuff was kept. Rosie obediently
shuffled out on to the steps at the front of the nick and settled down. By the
time the Blister brought out a polystyrene cup of tea to her, she had pissed
herself again and a stream of urine ran gently down the steps on to the
pavement. The smell was overpowering and Blister gasped as she handed over the
cup.
        'Jesus
Christ, will you control yourself, Rosie. Drink that up and get on your way,
preferably to have a bath somewhere.' She hurried back to her magazine, but
looked up again a few minutes later when she heard the doors open and saw Rosie
standing at the glass.
        'More
tea,' the woman demanded, holding her cup out.
        'Bollocks.
On your way, Rosie.'
        'More
tea or I'll shit myself here.' Blister knew bloody well that the horrible old
witch was perfectly capable of carrying out her threat and capitulated
immediately.
        'OK,
OK, go on, outside, I'll bring you another one,' she said urgently, grabbing
the cup under the glass partition. Rosie shuffled away as before.
        Half
an hour later, six cups of tea had passed straight through Rosie's decrepit
insides and now ran down the steps in a torrent. The front of the nick was awash,
the stench overpowering. Blister was beginning to panic as she realised that
shortly she would have no option but to actually take hold of Rosie in order to
get rid of her.
        'Time
you were on your way, Rosie,' she called unconvincingly from inside the front
doors, holding her nose against the smell.
        'Fuck
off,' muttered Rosie, getting to her feet, hoisting her filthy, tattered skirts
and shitting against the wall. Blister gagged and hurried back to her office.
She'd pretend she knew nothing about Rosie, despite the smell, which was now
infiltrating the nick. She tried to engross herself in her magazine, but was
disturbed by the sound of a man shouting and swearing outside. An irate Chief
Inspector Gillard then barged in through the front doors. He had decided on an
early start to spend as much time as he could without Bott to annoy him, and as
he hurried along the pavement had failed to notice either the liquid or the
smell coming from the