The Tantrum Sleuth

“So, Sarge said you transferred over from Cockett?”

“Yes, the wife’s from Glynneath see
and the in-laws are getting on now
so she wants as much time with them
as she can before they pop their clogs like.”

“Tidy, mun.
Well, unless those Melyn Boys kick off again-
they smashed up The King Edward last night-
we’ve got a pretty quiet one lined up
for your first nightshift in Neath.”

“Suits me that do.”

“We’re off up Fairyland for a look around.”

“Fairyland… you’re pulling my pisser?”

“No, no, I forget how funny that sounds to an outsider,
me being born and bred here and all.
God knows why they call it Fairyland?
Probably because it’s just under The Gnoll Country Park
and there’s nothing up there but duck ponds and magic mushrooms.
Anyway, it ain’t full of gay people
and you’ll see no winged ‘Lord of the Rings’ shit going on up there.
It’s full of heroin, crack, meow meow and £10 wrap prostitutes.
There’s a few of these Estates around The Valley,
we like to keep our white trash scum contained, so to speak.”

“Duly noted.”

“We’re on the lookout for The Tantrum Sleuth.
You’ve never seen anything quite like it, I swear.
It’s Summertime and it’s a full moon.
We catch the bugger every month,
harmless enough I suppose but creepy as hell.
He dresses up in wellington boots, a long trench coat
with sod all on underneath it
and one of those deerstalker caps like Sherlock Holmes.
He goes around the Estate looking for arguing and shouting
and when he finds it the dirty bugger
settles down outside the window and starts masturbating.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, it probably stems from childhood trauma
or some other psychological crap like that?
When we actually caught him the last time
there were a couple shagging over the way
and she was a right screamer and all.
But he completely blanked them and was having a tug
listening to flatmates fighting over a TV remote instead.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Aye, I know, we nick him see,
he goes to court and they fine him,
the fine goes up another £20 each time.
They’ve given him Cautions and Probation in the past
but none of it works, what can they do, you know?
They ain’t going to jail him for knuckle shuffling himself.”

“ASBO?”

“They can’t, he lives on the cowing Estate himself.
Anyway, here we are, we’ll start at the bottom
and work our way up to the top.
Stay within running distance and earshot
and remember you’re looking for signs of ‘Domestics’.
Oh and if you see anyone out and about over 5 years of age
don’t go saying ‘Hello’ or ‘Good Evening’ or any crap like that.
They call it throwing the first punch around these parts!”

© Paul Tristram 2016