Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Meanwhile, The Old One and Mr Cushing had managed to get across all those sheds without being noticed by those many gendarmes around that large farm, and they had a hairy time while that bumbling Inspector Clouseau had been laying across that gorgeous limo.

‘Outrageous,’ muttered Mr Cushing, as he clenched his teeth, while both of them hid in some bushes until Inspector Clouseau somehow or other managed to fall down to the ground from that very expensive car; he stood up rather quickly, as he moved away to catch up to all those gendarmes.

‘Now’s our chance,’ grinned The Old One, as Mr Cushing pulled out his keys; ‘no wishful thinking with this perfect purring car,’ as he gunned into reverse, and very, very quickly, he swung a right, and then put it onto drive, ‘zoom on, we’re on the move,’ as both of them grinned with glee, ‘what wits we are!’

They were racing through the countryside, Mr Cushing drove swiftly, while The Old One used his smartphone: ‘hear we are,’ he said, ‘I’ve the GPS, we can find them near the rails and then to the nearest station, hmm, excellent.’

Then The Old One started a soliloquy, almost like a fourth wall he thought to himself: ‘I think I might be a writer, I feel I should write my memoirs, but only the highlights,’ as he took out his posh pen and beautiful notebook.

Mr Cushing glanced at him, and said: ‘you’re going to be busy then.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Mark my words,’ said the red-headed woman as she looked outside from her window on the train as she stared across the tracks and pointed, ‘this is going to be a train smash, in a way, look at those two, they are off the train now, they seem to be going to the train station, hmm, wonder why?’

She tried to crane even further to see what they were doing since the station wasn’t far, she could just see the station car park, but nothing further than that, although it was clear that there was much movement around the cars in the car park.

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles were moving stealthily, crossing the tracks without being seen, of course, they still had those diamonds with them since both of them have natty satchels and several useful pockets inside of them.

The two gargoyles had already put their smartphones on silent but on vibrating instead, just to be sure, as they began to climb up the wall to the car park by the station.

They already knew that this town was too small for a cathedral, and it seemed most unlikely to find a proper large and ancient church; it was even less likely to meet some other useful gargoyles around here.

But luck could still come into play as one of the gargoyles said: ‘do just pinch me now, look at this, what a happy coincidence,’ as the two of them sniggered as they moved over to the next vehicle.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Where is our coffee?’ wondered Scatty, ‘she’s taking ages,’ as she craned her head across the aisle, ‘but at least that lovely red-headed woman had given us our tickets, she’s so useful, never inept is she,’ as Scatty glanced across the aisle again.

‘We’re going to be branded as liars and thieves,’ muttered Joan, – Francis said, ‘well, it wasn’t us, was it, it was only them, those wretched gargoyles,’ as he glanced up, although they couldn’t actually see them, since the two gargoyles were lying on the top of the train.

‘Hush, don’t talk so loudly,’ muttered Joan, ‘we need to introduce a different topic, people can hear what we are talking about and that is not a good idea – mums the word, eh?’

Then the red-headed woman appeared holding the four coffees; she was putting them down on the table, and she said, ‘ouch, that was very hot, I got a slight injury, look, there is a small burn on my left wrist, still it’s not a train smash, as we would say – and yes, I’m crossing my one thumb for luck,’ as she grinned.

They sipped their coffees – all black and no sugar – as they were all mulling their thoughts as the train continued to travel quickly; of course, it was dark now, but they could see more buildings, ‘it’s a big town coming up soon,’ remark the red-headed woman.

A little later, the train slowed down, ‘look it’s going to stop before the town, I wonder why?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘It’s stopping, look, that train,’ grinned Scatty, ‘we should get on it, shouldn’t we,’ as they looked to each other, ‘see, those gendarmes are past the last shed now, let’s go, and why not, there are no problems are there?’

Both Mr Cushing and The Old One looked rather apprehensive: ‘it’s my limousine,’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I’m not leaving the old girl by that farm,’ – ‘no siree,’ said The Old One, ‘I always ride shotgun with you now, so we will have to chance it then,’ – and a moment later, they both shot off.

‘Train time,’ smiled Joan, ‘how handy there was a tiny station just here,’ – ‘more than handy,’ said Francis, ‘I am kind of thinking this could be a ghost train,’ but he muttered very quietly and no-one else heard what he said.

However, everything seemed normal as all four of them got into that busy train.

The train was moving quickly now as the red-headed woman walked through the carriages, she brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, as she glanced at a rather pretty baby who was sitting by her dad playing pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake; and in the next but last carriage, this was what she was after: ‘ooh, at last, a brew… hot coffee!’

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been checking out those diamonds, since of course they had got them; they had been using their smartphones since they had an inkling about something clever Reena had said quite recently: ‘ah, there it is…’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

All six of them, Francis, Joan, Scatty, the red-headed woman, The Old One and Mr Cushing, burst out from the far end of the shed; all of them glanced back at Inspector Clouseau who was still tied up and tightly, before they all turned forward to this important mission.

‘Come on,’ said Joan, ‘we can walk and talk, and maybe we should walk rather quickly,’ – ‘also,’ said Scatty, ‘we should forget all about that pretty kettle of fish,’ – ‘absolutely,’ muttered the red-headed woman, ‘it’s not relevant anyway,’ – while Mr Cushing nodded his head feeling vindicated.

‘Are we all feeling better now?’ asked The Old One, – ‘I believe so,’ grinned Mr Cushing, ‘are we united… we are, aren’t we,’ – ‘we’re a unit, yes, that’s right,’ beamed Francis, ‘we’re great again.’

‘But where are the two gargoyles,’ asked the red-headed woman, ‘are they missing… it seems unlikely though?’ as she looked around everyone.

‘Well, they are hardly upstarts, are they,’ said Joan, ‘those two gargoyles are very old indeed,’ – ‘yes, very true,’ grinned Scatty, ‘we are all ancient,’ – ‘oh, but not her, the red-headed woman,’ said The Old One, as he smiled back to her, ‘she’s in her prime, isn’t she,’ – as the red-headed woman, blushed a bit.

But now they all started to run, since it was clear that the gendarmes had arrived; then they heard a train very close to them, and as they looked up, they could see the two gargoyles sitting on the top of that train.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Scatty had changed herself just now, since she’s a shape-shifter; she grinned as far as she could – her beautiful fur glistened as she cornered Clouseau, forcing him to sit down, he had already lost his gun and his truncheon during the altercation, and he was bemused – ‘where’s that suave Pink Panther, not this very dangerous big cat, a black panther?’

Inspector Clouseau mumbled something, but no-one could understand anything he said, while the red-headed woman grabbed some handy rope which she’d seen, she tied his hands behind him, and pretty tightly too.

‘I don’t want to be negative about this,’ said the red-headed woman, as she finished her handiwork, ‘but we have to move quickly now; I’m sure I can hear many sirens in the background, and they are getting louder every minute.’

‘This is becoming a nasty business,’ piped up Joan, and rather crossly, and not usually for her either – ‘sorry, what’s wrong with me?’ as she shook her head, ‘we’re becoming grumpy and quarrelsome, aren’t we?’

‘Well, we need to shift on,’ said Scatty as she became her usual self, still smiling since she did like being a beautiful black panther, ‘but nevertheless, I believe we have one only choice, we need to get to that gate on the other side – I think we need to run!’

Francis then said: ‘this is really important – this is our oath, this solemn vow – for all of us,’ as he looked at everyone around… ‘so where are those diamonds now?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

It seemed that everyone had now decided that those wonderful gems were real, as Mr Cushing began to hum the theme song, ‘Diamonds Are Forever’, while The Old One was grinning as he said, ‘I was an extra in that one, I was just behind Sammy Davis Jr. who was a casino player,’ – ‘how extraordinary,’ said Mr Cushing as he stopped humming and his eyebrows shot up for a moment.

‘Shirley Bassey,’ yelled the red-headed woman, ‘I saw her on King Street, Manchester (that was a long time ago), she’s small… just like me,’ as she smiled with glee.’ *

The two gargoyles waddled to the far end of the shed to make sure that the great big doors would open; ‘we can do it, and we won’t need to force it, we are sure.’ So they heaved and hoed, and it opened just enough, and they both grinned since they could see a useful gate quite near: ‘all we need now are those pretty diamonds,’ as they waddled back.

‘Not so fast,’ said Inspector Clouseau, as he entered the shed, ‘Em off my pheune and I’m just waiting for back up,’ as he waved his gun and held up his truncheon.

Now things became complicated since several actions occurred at the same time: someone ran to turn off the main switch; various people grabbed something, hoping it were some diamonds on that particular shelf; and the last piece of the jigsaw, when it was light again, a black panther appeared.

(*that was completely true, by the way)

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

A moment later, Inspector Clouseau said, ‘em stepping out with my pheune,’ (meaning a phone, they gathered), he popped back to say, ‘don’t move.’

The red-headed woman stared after Clouseau, as he left the shed and closed it firmly; she then stared at all her friends, she wondered what might happen, and she wondered who would speak first, while she began to fidget a bit.

It was Francis who spoke: ‘Today is going to be a milestone,’ he said gravely, as he looked around and nobody else spoke, as that last shed seemed to echo around that particular shelf, ‘we will need a strategy, a plan and a plot no doubt, we will need to set out some rules, as well.’

‘Hold on,’ said Joan, ‘how do we know all those diamonds are real, kosher, genuine… you know what I’m saying,’ – ‘real I’m sure,’ grinned Scatty, ‘although, legitimate is a completely different kettle of fish,’ – then The Old One said, ‘sorry, why are we talking about fish again?’ – and then Mr Cushing said, ‘yes, why are we talking about fish, surely we were talking about escargots?’

Meanwhile, one of the gargoyles muttered, ‘they’ve lost the plot,’ as the two of them edged closer to that particular shelf, they looked at each other and grinned, then they looked back at those bright and beautiful diamonds.

The two of them glanced to the far end of the shed, and then they looked at the main electrical fuse just beyond, they both winked.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman mused while she tramped across the field on that farm, listening to everyone’s accents, she hadn’t really thought about that before, since all her friends sound pretty normal – mostly French, Paris in fact, although Scatty was originally from Ireland, and of course, she herself was from Liverpool, and there wasn’t much difference between the two of them the way they could speak together if they wanted to.

However, Inspector Clouseau was a completely different kettle of fish (as one might say), since he spoke very oddly indeed, was he really a Frenchman? she wondered, as she peered at him once again, as he marched along with his over-sized magnifying glass.

It was a long way to walk still, and the red-head woman continued to muse to herself; she thought all the things she had done in the past – breaking in, and breaking out, on various schemes, like that big safe, for example, and she and the two gargoyles had kind of helped – even thinking the three of them should have plotted a heist of their own.

She stopped… dead… as she pondered to herself, was she heartless? was she uncaring? even ruthless..?

‘Come on,’ grinned Scatty, ‘do you need a hand?’ as the two of them linked arms.

Just a few metres and all of them were there, as they crowded in that last shed -and yes, it was amazing… diamonds galore on that one shelf, as Inspector Clouseau said: ‘I am an Office of the Leu.’

*listen to this on YouTube!

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