The Old Funky Rhombus

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The Scottish Lady

The beaming sun fills a cloudless sky. Beautiful green leaves, speckled with reds and yellows of flowers, climb the walls of a thatched roof cottage. A low white picket fence runs along the parameter of a fully blossomed garden, keeping a small, hyper Jack Russell penned in. Such a beautiful scene.

Just across the road is where the investigation continues.

In a graffiti covered, broken window full, piss smelling, council owned apartment building. I don’t know what it’s doing in such a beautiful area. You’ll have to ask the British council.

Ezra strides over the ‘dead man silhouette’ showing elegance and charm. His stylish boots tap along the scummy paths as he walks. Not an annoying tap. More of a musical, melodic tap. He high-fives Officer Malone on the way past, and winks at Sargent Pennyfull.

Wesley walks beside him. He smiles at Officer Malone, only to be punched right in the snout. As his blooded nose rises, he catches a glimpse of the Sergeant, flipping him off.

“What did I do?” Wesley asks, holding his nose to stop the bleeding.

“Well you did call her a daft-cow at the last work shindig.”

“It was a joke.” Wesley adds, turning back to Sergeant Pennyfull. “It was a Joke!”

“Piss off ya prick!”

Ezra, continuing his strut, makes his way over to the witness. The middle aged woman stands to the middle of the room, sobbing lightly into an old silk scarf.

“Alright love. We need to ask you some questions.” Ezra says, smiling all the while.

“Fa ur ye? Whit dae ye want fae me?” She replies, switching her sobs for the strongest of Scottish accents. Like a female Billy Connelly reciting the most brutal of Scottish lingo.

“What?” Welsey has a stupid look of confusion on his face. Like an ugly old dog listening to a tin whistle.

“Whit dae ye want fae me? Ur ye gonnae ask me mince ur nae?”

Wesley’s stupid face gets more and more confused as the broad Scottish accent gabbles on. It’s hilarious.

“Get off it. How am I supposed to get answers here? Who’s idea was it to have a witness who can’t speak a word of English?”

Well, if you wasn’t such an idiot then you’d be able to figure it out.

“You’re the narrator. Isn’t it your job to translate these kinds of things? You can put it in italics and stuff.”

Get stuffed. That’s just lazy. You can do it yourself.

“Aww, c’mon. This is gonna take forever. It’s not that much extra.”

Get off it. No chance.

“C’mon, just a few.”

Piss off. Now carry on. We got two more witnesses after this one.

Wesley shakes his head furiously as he turns back to the middle aged Scottish woman, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

“Can you tell me anything about the witness?” He recites, though his heart doesn’t sound like it’s pouring into the lines. Like he’s being forced to say it. Pathetic.

“It was a quine cheil. He cam at meh, I we daein mah washin’ end ‘en it attacked. It we gantin’” The poor woman started strong, but was almost brought to tears as she drawn the short story to a close.

“I got nothing. Something to do with washing her gantin. Whatever one of those is. You get anything Ezra?” Wesley looks over to find his dashing partner stood right across the room with a large pink hat on.


Ezra turns away from adjusting his facial angles in the mirror to accompany his partner with the old lady. A huge smile drawn across his face as he continues his posing right across the room.

“You like it?” Ezra indicates, tilting the giant pink barnet at a shanty angle. “I think it’ll go great in my collection. You never know when you need to go undercover as a sexy wag.”

“What are you doing? We’re meant to be investigating.”

“I know, but get this, right. I was walking across the room and I saw this hat. Who’s not gonna try a hat on right? So I go over to the mirror, you know, to see how good it looks, and find out it’s amazing. Look how big it is. It’s like wearing a parachute on me head. I recon I could get this back out there. Take the Eastern market by storm. Imagine, all of the chinks that come over wearing giant barnets. It’ll be great.”

Wesley scuffs at the thought. “Eastern market? You know those guys won’t wear a hat with a circumference larger than an onion ring.”

“Yeah, but we could change it. They just don’t know it yet.”

“Dream all you want. It’s not gonna happen.”

“It is, it’ll be huge. Almost as big as the hat itself. It’ll start in Beijing, slowly but surely taking over the British chip shop industry. It’ll spread like a plague.”

“Right, fine, whatever. Let’s just get back to the investigation. Yeah?”

“You got it. So what’s happening? What does she know?” Ezra leads the way. His cheerful presence brings a smile to the poor woman’s face. She snuffs out the last of her sorrows, and lowers her scarf.

“I dunno. It’s impossible. She’s Scottish.”

“North or South?”

Wesley looks almost as confused as when the Scottish woman spoke.

“Does it matter?”

Ezra simply huffs, and addresses the small old lady.

“Alrecht. How it gonnae? Yoo ken anythin’ abit thes berk whoo’s bin attackin’ fowk?”

What? Erm… Ezra speaks with a broad Scottish accent in almost perfect Scottish lingo…

“What’s that all about?” Wesley asks. My question exactly.

“I got a Btec National, now shh. She’s talking.” Ezra replies, dismissing his partner.

“Aye. T’was thes cheil fa looked loch a hen.”

“No way! Like some kind of lady-man freak? What’s he daein’ haur?

“I don’t ken. I was daein’ mah washin’. An he cam.”

“That’s when he…”

“He held mah elbaw. It we gantin’. A whole minute ay ersit.”

“You poor woman. I wont have this. I’ll get him, well her. It. I’ll get them.” Ezra says, turning towards the doorway. “Cheerio th’ noo.”

Wesley stutters for a minute. He eventually follows Ezra while trying to finish the talks with the old lady. “Erm… Tati booy.” He says in possibly the worst Scottish accent I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Piss off ya prick!” The lady follows, but in a broad English accent. Every syllable pronounced.

“So what’s happening? What did she say?” Wesley asks, finally catching up to the determined Ezra and his pink barnet.

“He got her. He held her elbow for a whole minute. We can’t stand for this Walter.” Ezra continues to stride on, uncharacteristically serious.

“It’s Wesley… Where are we going? Did she say?”

“I dunno. The narrator will take us there when he describes the intro for the next scene.” Ezra’s smile returns. I guess it’s up to me to put two and two together then. They don’t pay me enough for this.

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