by Sandshoe

Honest to Gordon, I would have said to Gordon, Gordon let the bish go.

Bring in the strongman. That’s a circus expression.

“Let the bloke go,” EEvonnn asked Gordon, “will you please?”.

The bish was standing at the counter. Maybe he was wedged between Gordon and the counter. Gordon had let go and slumped forward on him. Gordon was snoring.

“Merv’s missing. Foodge’s Uncle. He’s suspect in your demise.” EEvonnn was not put off her job. She launched a conversation with the bish.

“Last thing I saw of Merv,” the bish answered, “was only a glimpse. He was rocking the rocker. He wouldn’t know which was up in the state he was in. Nobody can believe a word he says.”

The bish added, hastily, “I’ve no formal complaints to make, Vonnny.”

EEvonnn winked and grinned. EEvonnn had laid a couple of bets with the bish earlier on her way to work. Eevonnn winner and grinner. She does not know yet the canvas tote bag is missing.

Nurse Barbara clickety-click-clicked into the foyer of the pleece station looking elegantly turned out and wearing very high and very nice white high heel shoes. She had changed for work. An early. Nurse Barbara announced she was lost.

A new lot of people was shepharded into the foyer by more pleece behind them.

“Bish,” Nurse Barbara smiled brightly, jostling with the crowd, “You can help me and I thought you were dead. I’m lost. What’s wrong with him? Does he need something?”

Nurse Barbara motioned one elegant hand at Gordon slumped on the counter top now and asleep, snoring with gusto. She turned to see EEvonnn standing behind the counter.

“Nurse Eevonnn! You’re on the wrong side of the counter. Aren’t you?”

“Barb, I’m a temp. I’m only acting. I’m a desk clerk. What’s wrong.”

“I’m lost.”

“I thought myself the bish was dead. That’s how much I know,” smiled EEvonnn.

Nurse Barbara looked at EEvonnn askance. “I’m lost.” She waved her hand, this time describing ‘don’t know where I am’, palm upturned, an ancient Egyptian-style raised elbow and forearm supporting a raised wrist gesture, a ‘Where am I?’ or can be used for ‘What’s wrong with everybody? Why is food being carried in? The Pharoah was dead last I looked?’

“The NavSAT woman directed me here,” Nurse Barbara explained. “I should not ever listen to her.  I’ve never been to this Pleece Station before. Thank our lucky stars. It’s Foodge.”

Never was everybody crowding into the foyer with pleece persons ever so happy to see Foodge. A cry of exultant would-be ciminals if it was not for Foodge went up in one voice.

“FOODGE!”

Foodge had changed out of his party clothes into a grey-silk work suit and a soft-white silk shirt. He was wearing his college tie. He was carrying in one hand a recently purchsed new fedora. He was carrying a briefcase in his other hand. If a court was convened Foodge was ready for anything. He was worried.

Foodge stopped and paled even more than he is pale as it is.  The bish partly wrapped in one of Janet’s curtains she sewed for Merv for the bar had managed to get his feet free when he squirmed out from under the weight of Gordon on his shoulders. Foodge saw the bish shuffling and Gordon loudly snoring on the counter. The bish however stooped. He was about to bestow on Nurse Barbara an adoration for being medical. He attributed Nurse Barbara’s arrival at the pleece station as responsible for his restoration. He kissed her feet. Not a lot of room for even a drunken sailor. Never mind. Enough people huddled together out of alarm at the sight of the bish, the bish was able to lay himself prone on the floor between their feet.

Nurse Barbara makes a statuesque statue, just no sparrows and in a nurse’s uniform and high heels.

Back against the counter face next to Gordon Foodge slid down into the crowd. He hunkered.

“Uncle Merv thinks you’re dead and he killed you,” Foodge said succinctly in the ear of the prone bish, “Bish, I’m mad. You runnin’ that illegal book.”

The bish didn’t move. He was thinking. He remembered the canvas tote bag.

Foodge sighed and lent his head back against the counter top behind him. He was worried for Uncle Merv waiting in hiding, not knowing the bish was alive, Foodge thought he was alive anyway. Hard to tell through the curtain,the bish lying doggo.

“Get up, bish. Here you are. Put on your pants. Crouch down. Put these on. Rosie gave these to me to … give to you.” Foodge hesitated. He could not bring himself to say what they were intended for for all he was mad at the bish. Foodge is soft hearted.

Foodge pulled a neatly ironed and folded pair of smart black dress slacks and a plain white poplin shirt out of his briefcase. “They’re not my best, Foodge,” grimaced the bish.

The bish was unsteady on his feet pulling on his pants.

Foodge remembered. “OK. So they’re a bit ordinary. What’d you expect. I’ve brought you some thongs too. Couldn’t find your dress shoes. We did our best on short notice. Sorry. Here.”

Nurse Barbara said quietly, “I’m lost.” She left to find her way to work with the NavSAT turned off.

 TO BE CONTINUED

 My sincere apologies to all the nurses and those who aren’t and now are if anybody is offended by these representations of ourselves if not ourselves.

Acknowledgement: That’s Clint Eastwood modelling underpants.