The Sales Rep

There's a turning just up ahead on the left, he remembered, maybe about a third of a mile or so, leading off to a decent little roadside café. Clean enough and a rather good steak and kidney pudding. He smiled to himself as he recalled the popular fiction that the sign of plenty of lorries in the café car park signified a quality establishment. Personally he didn't connect lorry drivers with haute cuisine, suspecting they preferred cheap and cheerful food and, even more importantly, good sized servings.

He tapped down on the high beam button in the footwell and the headlights responded with a couple of extra watts of yellow illumination. Indicating, he slowed and followed the driveway to the small car park where he switched off the ignition and sat in silence broken only by the pings of the cooling engine.

As he removed the ignition key, he reached across to pat the magnetic Saint Christopher that resided on the metal dashboard as he did at the end of every journey, only to find it missing. His wife, Laura, had given him the talisman many years ago and although it had probably simply dropped off the dashboard and into the passenger footwell, he found its absence after all this time to be strangely unsettling.

The building looked different to him somehow and he tried to remember how long it had been since his last visit, maybe last month or possibly the one before that when he'd secured the big Harrison order? Yes, that must have been it.

What a deal that had been, snatching the contract right at the last minute from Forbes. Hadn't he been livid! It took him weeks to even speak civilly to him again, which wasn't surprising seeing the amount of commission he lost out on. Commission that had paid for their annual holiday that year. Poor old Forbes, he really must treat him to a cuppa the next time they met ,he chuckled to himself.

After a few moments pondering the building he decided it must be the new blue colour scheme on the doors and window frames that confused him. They must have got a bit of a lick on getting all the work done and it certainly looked a lot smarter now. Just like he always said, you have to invest to prosper. Glancing up he spotted as well a new sign above the door and realised that he had never noticed the name of the place-Snappy’s-before despite numerous visits. Oh well, you had to move with the times he supposed and as long as they hadn't messed about with the food what did it matter?

He locked and double checked the car door. Lock it or lose it, as the police posters stuck up in the shop windows and on the lampposts in the town advised the local shoppers. Regrettably you can never be too careful these days, especially in these dimly lit car parks.

It wasn't unknown for some poor sod to return from his breakfast and find his lorry and its cargo spirited away. One of the recent stories doing the rounds maintained that the villains responsible for the latest theft of a lorry load of cigarettes had had the brass neck to leave a packet of twenty Embassy and a box of matches on the cab driver's seat for the cops to share amongst themselves.

He smiled at the memory and made his way towards the entrance, his footsteps lifting small dust clouds behind him.

A pair of motorcycles were parked up just beside the steps leading up to the door. Yamaha, Suzuki, he read the chrome badges on the petrol tanks. He knew the names of course and was vaguely aware of a couple of other foreign marques but he was more familiar with BSA twins and other British machines with their vibrations and oily smells. He had to admit though that these Jap jobs could certainly get a move on judging from the couple of teararses that passed him earlier this evening. They'd made him feel like he was stuck in reverse and towing lead, when he'd first noticed them in the car's rear view mirror coming up behind him quickly. It may even have been these same two chaps he realised.

He automatically tapped his back pocket to check his wallet only to find it missing. Damn, he must have left it at Hargreaves, his last call. He vaguely recalled getting it out to leave a couple of business cards. Bugger it. He'd have to look a bit smartish and go back. The gatehouse guard would probably have it waiting for him.

He turned and marched back to the car, starting the still warm engine. A quick three point turn and he was laying down some rubber, heading back to the main road. As he approached the junction he clicked on the car radio. The Everleys were singing “Bye Bye Love”.

It had been another long shift at the old people's home for Mandy but at last the final hour had loomed into view. Just a couple of more beds to make up and a quick blast round with the vacuum cleaner in the dining room and that would be it for the day.

She had been keeping an eagle-eye on the weather forecast and was optimistic that the good weather was likely to last over the weekend. Excellent, there would be a good turn out at the classic car show that she planned to attend with Ozzy the Austin Cambridge.

The very same Austin that was parked outside, tank topped up and battery nicely charged, ready to roll.

She had just got the vacuum out from the cleaning cupboard when Denise the manager came quickly along the corridor.

“ Mandy. Have you seen Mr Ward?”

“Stan? No, why?”

“He's gone missing.”

“ He's probably in the wrong room again, like last time when he was fast asleep in Doris’ room.”

“ Bloody hell, not again. Right you check the upstairs rooms and I'll do down here. Rendezvous back here in fifteen. That's twenty-one-forty-five.”

“ Right, he won't be far away.”

“ Lock down all the empty rooms behind you.”

“ Yes.”

“Oh, and put the vacuum away first, we don't want to sustain any casualties.”

Denise could never totally forget her previous career in the army.

The call to the police station came in shortly afterwards and was logged in at twenty-two-ten (Denise would have approved).

Patrol car XL5 was on the radio requesting an ambulance, tow truck, fire engine and a forensics unit.

“ Steady on son,” replied the desk sergeant. “ Have the Russians invaded or something?” He wasn't authorising all that stuff for a cat stuck up a tree or similar. He valued his stripes too much for that.

“ Remember your training and give an accurate account.”

“ Right sarge. I'm out by the old roadside café out on the ring road. The old ‘Snappy’s’ place.”

Snappy had served his last all day breakfast over twenty years ago and the abandoned carpark was now a well known dogging site.

“ I thought that was all chained off now?”

“ Yes sarge. I'm outside. Where the side road joins the carriageway.”

Good, that's better. Detailed and concise, thought the desk sergeant.

“ Well, anyway, down at the bottom of the bank in the trees is an old car. An old Austin. It must be, I don't know, maybe fifty years old or more, but it looks brand new. It must have overshot the bend and gone off the road. It's pretty smashed up.”

“ Well it can't have been there for all those years can it?”

“ No sarge, the bonnet is still warm and,” the officer paused,” there's a person inside. IC1 male. Dead as far as I can tell, but the oddest thing. He's wearing pyjamas and slippers.