Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
Alf loitered outside his ivy-covered gatehouse one morning, scratched the stubble on his chin, and stared off into the distance with half closed eyes.
It was spring again, and birds sang in the treetops, but somehow there was no sparkle in their songs, especially when the constant drone of traffic from the nearby road dominated all other sounds. What he craved was adventure. His way of life as security guard at the Cloud Mansion was in a rut deep enough to smother him.

There was no thrill in his heart these days. He'd won his last three bare-knuckle fights with dreary ease. There had been no trespassers on the Cloud estate to deal with, and apart from his sparing fights with Bert and the company of his dumb robot, Crusher, he was almost always alone.

He missed his wild youth, when he'd been free and frank, a different woman in his arms each week and stopping men in dark alleys to steal their wallets. The only responsibility he'd toted was to himself. There were no bills, no house to keep, and it had always been easy to pick fights with stroppy guys in the pubs.

Now he lived in a comfortable tenancy, ate as much delicious food as he wanted, and had a steady income. Dull, dull, dull.
​
With a profound sigh, he closed the door behind him and sauntered off across the estate. He soon joined an overgrown lane that wormed its way through a dense and ancient forest. Reaching its end at a lofty stone perimeter wall, he passed through a high-security gate.

He now found himself in The Stables. In the old days, the village had been part of the Cloud Estate, a hamlet where servants and farmers lived. These days, it was a thriving privately owned riding stables for the rich.

Alf hovered at the gate and rolled his neck and shoulders. From a distance, the small village looked drowsy. But if nothing was going on, he'd soon find some mischief to liven things up.

The village clustered around a large green, formed in the shape of a triangle. In the centre flourished a great oak tree, its canopy almost as broad as the green. A stone-built church, the vicarage, and a graveyard dominated one side of the green. A blacksmith, a general store, and Mr Sykes's stately townhouse ranged along a second side of the triangle. And Ye Olde inn with its stables filled the third section.

Three dirt track roads spun off from the green at each corner. One led out to the entrance and mini zoo at the busy main road. A second led to a residential neighbourhood. The third dropped to a ford and narrow footbridge that crossed a gentle river and then opened to rich meadows. This is where the horses grazed and the farm buildings stood.

Alf made straight for Ye Olde Inn, the community's thriving centre. He usually steered away from alcohol but hoped a beer would lift his mood. As he drew close, he noticed something strange. The Stable's rules prohibited motorised vehicles in the village, but today, apart from three tethered horses, a Mercedes and a moped had parked in the forecourt.

Alf quickened his step. Whatever the special occasion, he didn't want to miss out.

He loved the Inn with its low-beamed ceiling, open fire, and small diamond-shaped lead-lined windows. The scent of ancient cigars and wood polish hung in the air, and the heavy curtains, deep carpets, and thick stone walls muffled sound as though they cocooned him in cotton wool. Today, however, it didn't agree with his mood and only added to his irritation.

"Hi there, Alf," said the barman, polishing glasses. "The usual Coke." He was a pot-bellied little fellow with a bulbous nose, unkempt dark hair, and marble eyes.

"Give me a pint of your best bitter," said Alf. "And have one yourself."

The barman plucked a mug from a shelf above his head and pulled the beer. "What are you celebrating?"

"I'm taking a few days off, a sort of holiday. Any objections?"

"Might have." The barman's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Wan't to settle it outside?"

Alf swallowed half his beer in one gulp, showed the barman his finger, and shifted his attention to a stranger seated at the end of the bar. He was almost as tall as Alf, wore a black leather jacket, matching trousers, and a bright red silk scarf tied neatly around his neck. If the gear hadn't been so shiny and new, Alf might have mistaken him for a Hell's Angel.

Alf couldn't be sure, but he suspected the man was staring at him from behind his mirrored Ray Bands, "What're you looking at?" he said, staring right back. A twinge of hope made him lick his lips. If he played his cards right, perhaps he could provoke this man outside for a fight.

Part 04

In this post: Why were a lawyer, the police, and a vicar harassing Alf's friend, Sykes?

The man slid slowly from his stool, faced Alf, and spread his legs in a wide stance. A grin played across his square jawline as his head raised and lowered, assessing his opponent before the battle.

"Come outside," said Alf, dead set on a good punch-up, "and I'll bust those fat lips of yours."

"I'm awfully sorry," whined the man and whipped his sunglasses off. "No offence. I just thought you looked so butch." He rested his left hand on his hip, pursed his lips, and smiled sweetly. "I'm here for the wedding tomorrow and it's terribly exciting. Will I see you there?"

Alf's skin tightened. "No."

"Can I buy you another drink?"

"No." The tension drained from Alf and his shoulders dropped: no chance of a fight her either. He snatched up his beer, turned his back on the man, and gazed into the lounge.

Only one table was occupied. Four elderly men sat around it: Styles, the owner of The Stables; Vicar Bitter, who resided in the chapel's vicarage; Chief Inspector Dobbs, a semi-retired police officer who lived in a cottage; and a stylishly dressed man he'd never seen before, a smarmy lawyer maybe. They looked every bit as miserable as him.

Sykes waved at him, beckoning him to join them. The Stable's ageing owner was a money pincher, but also a cheerful and kind old soul who got along well with most people. Despite Alf's low social status, he'd shown him nothing but friendship and had a knack of brightening Alf's mood whenever he felt down.

It pained Alf to see him looking so glum. The normal spark of merriment was absent from his eyes, and his body sagged worse than usual. He wondered if the other three had anything to do with his grief. Perhaps a close relative had died. Why else would a vicar, the police, and a lawyer be sitting with him?

If any of them were causing him trouble, he'd take them outside and rough them up. All three if necessary.

To be continued…
 
The real world:
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
​-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.

Previously…
Alf loitered outside his ivy-covered gatehouse one morning, scratched the stubble on his chin, and stared off into the distance with half closed eyes.
It was spring again, and birds sang in the treetops, but somehow there was no sparkle in their songs, especially when the constant drone of traffic from the nearby road dominated all other sounds. What he craved was adventure. His way of life as security guard at the Cloud Mansion was in a rut deep enough to smother him.

There was no thrill in his heart these days. He'd won his last three bare-knuckle fights with dreary ease. There had been no trespassers on the Cloud estate to deal with, and apart from his sparing fights with Bert and the company of his dumb robot, Crusher, he was almost always alone.

He missed his wild youth, when he'd been free and frank, a different woman in his arms each week and stopping men in dark alleys to steal their wallets. The only responsibility he'd toted was to himself. There were no bills, no house to keep, and it had always been easy to pick fights with stroppy guys in the pubs.

Now he lived in a comfortable tenancy, ate as much delicious food as he wanted, and had a steady income. Dull, dull, dull.

With a profound sigh, he closed the door behind him and sauntered off across the estate. He soon joined an overgrown lane that wormed its way through a dense and ancient forest. Reaching its end at a lofty stone perimeter wall, he passed through a high-security gate.

He now found himself in The Stables. In the old days, the village had been part of the Cloud Estate, a hamlet where servants and farmers lived. These days, it was a thriving privately owned riding stables for the rich.

Alf hovered at the gate and rolled his neck and shoulders. From a distance, the small village looked drowsy. But if nothing was going on, he'd soon find some mischief to liven things up.

The village clustered around a large green, formed in the shape of a triangle. In the centre flourished a great oak tree, its canopy almost as broad as the green. A stone-built church, the vicarage, and a graveyard dominated one side of the green. A blacksmith, a general store, and Mr Sykes's stately townhouse ranged along a second side of the triangle. And Ye Olde inn with its stables filled the third section.

Three dirt track roads spun off from the green at each corner. One led out to the entrance and mini zoo at the busy main road. A second led to a residential neighbourhood. The third dropped to a ford and narrow footbridge that crossed a gentle river and then opened to rich meadows. This is where the horses grazed and the farm buildings stood.

Alf made straight for Ye Olde Inn, the community's thriving centre. He usually steered away from alcohol but hoped a beer would lift his mood. As he drew close, he noticed something strange. The Stable's rules prohibited motorised vehicles in the village, but today, apart from three tethered horses, a Mercedes and a moped had parked in the forecourt.

Alf quickened his step. Whatever the special occasion, he didn't want to miss out.

Part 03
In this post: Alf is itching for a fight. Will the man at the bar be his next victim?

He loved the Inn with its low-beamed ceiling, open fire, and small diamond-shaped lead-lined windows. The scent of ancient cigars and wood polish hung in the air, and the heavy curtains, deep carpets, and thick stone walls muffled sound as though they cocooned him in cotton wool. Today, however, it didn't agree with his mood and only added to his irritation.

"Hi there, Alf," said the barman, polishing glasses. "The usual Coke." He was a pot-bellied little fellow with a bulbous nose, unkempt dark hair, and marble eyes.

"Give me a pint of your best bitter," said Alf. "And have one yourself."
The barman plucked a mug from a shelf above his head and pulled the beer. "What are you celebrating?"

"I'm taking a few days off, a sort of holiday. Any objections?"

"Might have." The barman's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Wan't to settle it outside?"

Alf swallowed half his beer in one gulp, showed the barman his finger, and shifted his attention to a stranger seated at the end of the bar. He was almost as tall as Alf, wore a black leather jacket, matching trousers, and a bright red silk scarf tied neatly around his neck. If the gear hadn't been so shiny and new, Alf might have mistaken him for a Hell's Angel.

Alf couldn't be sure, but he suspected the man was staring at him from behind his mirrored Ray Bands, "What're you looking at?" he said, staring right back. A twinge of hope made him lick his lips. If he played his cards right, perhaps he could provoke this man outside for a fight.

To be continued…
 
The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
Alf loitered outside his ivy-covered gatehouse one morning, scratched the stubble on his chin, and stared off into the distance with half closed eyes.

It was spring again, and birds sang in the treetops, but somehow there was no sparkle in their songs, especially when the constant drone of traffic from the nearby road dominated all other sounds. What he craved was adventure. His way of life as security guard at the Cloud Mansion was in a rut deep enough to smother him.

There was no thrill in his heart these days. He'd won his last three bare-knuckle fights with dreary ease. There had been no trespassers on the Cloud estate to deal with, and apart from his sparing fights with Bert and the company of his dumb robot, Crusher, he was almost always alone.

He missed his wild youth, when he'd been free and frank, a different woman in his arms each week and stopping men in dark alleys to steal their wallets. The only responsibility he'd toted was to himself. There were no bills, no house to keep, and it had always been easy to pick fights with stroppy guys in the pubs.

Now he lived in a comfortable tenancy, ate as much delicious food as he wanted, and had a steady income. Dull, dull, dull.

With a profound sigh, he closed the door behind him and sauntered off across the estate. He soon joined an overgrown lane that wormed its way through a dense and ancient forest. Reaching its end at a lofty stone perimeter wall, he passed through a high-security gate.

He now found himself in The Stables. In the old days, the village had been part of the Cloud Estate, a hamlet where servants and farmers lived. These days, it was a thriving privately owned riding stables for the rich.

Alf hovered at the gate and rolled his neck and shoulders. From a distance, the small village looked drowsy. But if nothing was going on, he'd soon find some mischief to liven things up.

Part 02
In this post: Vehicles were banned, so why was a Mercedes parked outside the Inn?
The village clustered around a large green, formed in the shape of a triangle. In the centre flourished a great oak tree, its canopy almost as broad as the green. A stone-built church, the vicarage, and a graveyard dominated one side of the green. A blacksmith, a general store, and Mr Sykes's stately townhouse ranged along a second side of the triangle. And Ye Olde inn with its stables filled the third section.

Three dirt track roads spun off from the green at each corner. One led out to the entrance and mini zoo at the busy main road. A second led to a residential neighbourhood. The third dropped to a ford and narrow footbridge that crossed a gentle river and then opened to rich meadows. This is where the horses grazed and the farm buildings stood.

Alf made straight for Ye Olde Inn, the community's thriving centre. He usually steered away from alcohol but hoped a beer would lift his mood. As he drew close, he noticed something strange. The Stable's rules prohibited motorised vehicles in the village, but today, apart from three tethered horses, a Mercedes and a moped had parked in the forecourt.

Alf quickened his step. Whatever the special occasion, he didn't want to miss out.

To be continued…
 
The real world:
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.e to edit.
​-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field. Part 01In this post: Alf's life was in a rut. But not for long…
Alf loitered outside his ivy-covered gatehouse one morning, scratched the stubble on his chin, and stared off into the distance with half closed eyes.

It was spring again, and birds sang in the treetops, but somehow there was no sparkle in their songs, especially when the constant drone of traffic from the nearby road dominated all other sounds. What he craved was adventure. His way of life as security guard at the Cloud Mansion was in a rut deep enough to smother him.

There was no thrill in his heart these days. He'd won his last three bare-knuckle fights with dreary ease. There had been no trespassers on the Cloud estate to deal with, and apart from his sparing fights with Bert and the company of his dumb robot, Crusher, he was almost always alone.

He missed his wild youth, when he'd been free and frank, a different woman in his arms each week and stopping men in dark alleys to steal their wallets. The only responsibility he'd toted was to himself. There were no bills, no house to keep, and it had always been easy to pick fights with stroppy guys in the pubs.

Now he lived in a comfortable tenancy, ate as much delicious food as he wanted, and had a steady income. Dull, dull, dull.

With a profound sigh, he closed the door behind him and sauntered off across the estate. He soon joined an overgrown lane that wormed its way through a dense and ancient forest. Reaching its end at a lofty stone perimeter wall, he passed through a high-security gate.

He now found himself in The Stables. In the old days, the village had been part of the Cloud Estate, a hamlet where servants and farmers lived. These days, it was a thriving privately owned riding stables for the rich.

Alf hovered at the gate and rolled his neck and shoulders. From a distance, the small village looked drowsy. But if nothing was going on, he'd soon find some mischief to liven things up.

To be continued…
 

The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth. here to edit.
​-

IMPORTANT NOTICE: this is the last part of 'Enchanter On The Roof'. Next up is 'Gamblers who Cheat'.

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 50

In the last post: Confounded, Chief Inspector Dobbs begged Bert for information. Bert made him say please…

Bert wielded his handcuffed arms straight out. “Let me go and I'll tell everything.”
A sheen of sweat glistened on Chief Inspector Dobbs cheeks, chin, and forehead. “And the keys?” he asked, hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh yeah. The keys are up on the scaffolding where Dick Charmer threw them. He pick-pocketed them right out of your dressing gown. And then when you was eating breakfast he scampered.”

On his own initiative, one of the constables sprung up the scaffolding ladder. “Here they are, Sir.” He clattered back down and handed the keys to his boss.

Chief Inspector Dobbs paused before turning the key in Bert’s handcuffs. His hands shook. “You promise to co-operate and inform us where he went?”

“I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me God.”

"You can save all that gibberish for the judge." Still, he wavered with the key. Grunting, he spread his stance. “I see you’re wearing your watch again.” He glared straight into Bert’s eyes. “Where did that come from?”

An impish smile made Bert’s mouth twitch. “Dick Charmer gave me watch back and apologised for messing me about. Gave me Olive’s engagement ring back too and said sorry for making me jealous. He’s a really swell guy when you get to know him like what I did.”

The handcuffs snapped open, and Bert rubbed his wrists. “He went that way.” Bert pointed along the pebble road towards the gate and main road. “He said he was going to take a bus.”

“Which one?”

“Didn’t say. But I said that would be a terrific trick if he pick-pocketed a whole bus.” Bert chortled. “Get it? Said he was going to take a bus.”

"You heard," snapped Chief Inspector Dobbs to his two patrolmen. "Go after him."

They didn't hang about, and neither did Bert. He trudged to his house, dogs at heel, and slammed the front door.

Chief Inspector Dobbs wheeled around and stalked away. If anyone were close enough, they would have caught him muttering, “One day… One day… One day I’ll have the lot of them behind bars.”

The end.

Next up is 'Gamblers who Cheat'.


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
'Enchanter On The Roof' is at its end. Next up is 'Gamblers who Cheat'.
She contested the bygone will. He stood to lose his life's work. But neither had gambled on Alf.

See you there ;-)
​-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 49

In the last post: The police wanted to unlock Bert's handcuffs, but they'd lost the keys…

Chief Inspector Dobbs patted his pockets, then rummaged through them one at a time. His constables waited patiently. One of them yawned.

“Damn,” said the inspector. “Must have left the keys in my dressing gown. Nobody move until I get back.”

“They ain’t in your dressing gown,” said Bert, studying his fingernails.

The inspector spun on him. “What?"

"They ain't in your dressing gown."

An ugly smirk played across Dobbs's lips, "I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you. Explain yourself.”

“I'll tell you where they are when you’re a bit more congenious.”

"You mean congenial."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Congealiant." Bert picked his nose and studied his fingernails again.

Seconds ticked past. The inspector tapped his toe, and then exploded. “Tell me, you big dummy.”

Bert lifted his chin and tried to fold his arms. “No. You gotta say please.”

“Never.”

“And then you gotta let me go, because I ain't done nothing but stand here locked up the whole time.”

One of the patrolmen cleared his throat. “Sir, the other guy is getting away.”

“Go and find him them, you pair of incompetent ninnies. Do I have to do everything myself?”

The constables glanced at each other, then the other said: “Any idea which way he went, Sir?”

“Of course I don’t you fu…” Chief Inspector Dobbs drew three deep breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth. “No, I don’t know which way he went.” He turned to Bert, raised his arms, and let them flop back by his side. “Perhaps you would be so kind to brief us? Pleeease.”

To be continued…


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.

'Enchanter On The Roof' is reaching its end. Next week, 'Gamblers who Cheat' makes an entrance.
She contested the bygone will. He stood to lose his life's work. But neither had gambled on Alf.

​See you there ;-)
​-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

​
#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 48

In the last post: Despite having the chagrined law on his collar, Bert acted casual…

“What happened here,” demanded Chief Inspector Dobbs. He'd changed into his ordinary civilian clothes: baggy trousers with turn-ups, and regardless of the mild morning weather, a yellow knitted pullover. “How did Dick Charmer escape from his handcuffs?”

Two policemen climbed out of their patrol car, their uniforms bristling with antenna and clumsy radios that peeped and squeaked. “Morn, Sir,” said the tallest as he straightened his cap. “Is this the man you want us to take in?” He nodded toward Bert and then searched the immediate area with his eyes. "I thought you said there were two? Where's the other man?"

“You're not taking anybody in yet,” thundered Chief Inspector Dobbs. “This is the man who can tell us how the other rogue escaped and where he went.”

“Yeah,” said Bert, mouth turned downward. “I saw it all and there was nothing I could do.” He clanked his handcuff chains against the restraining scaffolding pole. "I'm still captive."

“Tell me what happened, you blithering idiot.”

Bert buzzed his lips. "Had a nice breakfast?” He blinked twice, and then added, “Sir.”

The two policemen had joined the inspector, towering above him, one on each side. "I don't like the look of those dogs, Chief," said the constable on his left.

Bert's two Alsatians sat by his feet, unblinking eyes fixed on the officers, a deep rumble in their throats.

"Who let the dogs out?" demanded Chief Inspector Dobbs.

"I ain't saying nothing," said Bert, and then hurriedly changed the subject. “Seems Four Ps escaped from the mighty Inspector Dobbs too." He used Dick Charmer's nickname on purpose, hoping it would rile the inspector enough to forget the dogs.

“Chief Inspector,” screeched Dobbs, foam bubbling in the corners of his mouth. “Right. That’s it.” He whirled to face his constables and barked at them. “Take him in for questioning.”

Bert shook his head. “I ain’t got time for that. I’m on duty soon up at The Cloud Mansion." A new thought dawned on him and he puffed out his chest. "Anyway," he said, voice full of bluster, "how you gonna unlock me without the keys?”

To be continued…


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
'Enchanter On The Roof' is reaching its end. In one week, 'Gamblers who Cheat' makes an entrance.

She contested the bygone will. He stood to lose his life's work. But neither had gambled on Alf.
​
See you there ;-)
​-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 47

In the last post: The police were coming to fetch Bert and he froze in panic…

Bert closed his eyes and summoned a deep breath, holding it in. Turning his head a fraction, he listened to the impending police sirens. They were definitely moving in his direction.

He still wore his best clothes from last evening's disco: a new pair of blue denim jeans and a clean white T-shirt. The garments were thin and he shuddered, but not because of the cool morning air. He felt trapped and couldn't make his mind up what to do next.

If he scurried away, the law enforcement would catch him and have a million questions. If he went to work as if nothing had happened, the force would still have a million questions. He rubbed the back of his neck and wished his best mate Alf was with him to tell him what to do.

Then, to make matters worse, he sighted Chief Inspector Dobbs strutting toward him along the pebble lane. From the opposite direction, the police car came into view, bouncing over the pot-holed road to join them, a plume of dust in its trail, the siren blaring.

Unable to determine which way to run, Bert spun twice, first in one direction, and then the other. As he twirled, he patted himself down, searching for incriminating evidence. He dug his hands in his pockets and cursed, he'd found the handcuff keys.

Quicker than a spring-loaded mousetrap, his arm muscles triggered and he tossed the keys back onto the scaffolding boards above his head. In the same state of subconscious panic, he snapped the handcuffs over his wrists again, restraining himself exactly as Chief Inspector Dobbs had left him.

As the policeman drew close enough to see properly, Bert crossed his legs, leaned his elbows on a section of scaffolding cross pole, rested his head in his hands, and whistled his tuneless tune.

To be continued…


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 46

In the last post: Bert offered a hand of friendship. He clamped Dick Charmer's mitt and squeezed…

At first, the bones in Dick Charmer’s hand ground together in a tangle of knots.
“If you scream,” said Bert, squeezing ever harder, “you’ll bring the police running. We don’t want that, do we?”

Then the bones cracked and twisted out of joint and air exploded from Dick Charmer’s lungs in a squeal of agony. “Oops!” said Bert, “Sometimes I forget my strength. Still, it’ll stop you pick-pocketing young ladies for a while, won’t it?”

Dick Charmer staggered to his feet, careful to hold his mutilated hand away from his body, out of harm's way. His chin trembled and tears streaked his cheeks.

“If you ever come back,” said Bert. “I’ll break the other one too. Understand?”

Keeping his eyes averted, Dick Charmer answered with a slight nod. He grabbed his small suitcase in his left hand and darted away into the woods.

Bert followed the departing man until lost from view. He shook his head and glared up at the sky. It was over. The troublemaker had scattered like a cat with pepper on its tail and wouldn't come round again. Life could return to normal and Olive would turn her affection back to him. “Sorry, Chums,” he said to his Alsatians. “No fresh meat today. Let’s get home, quietly, I don’t want anyone to notice us.”

Before Bert came from the cover of trees, he checked to see if the coast was clear. A horse and cart rattled along the pebble road, but the driver stared into his smartphone, thumbs twiddling across the screen. After it had passed, Bert darted to his house, hid the pouch of stolen jewels in one of the Alsatian’s kennel, and returned to the place where his handcuffs still dangled to a scaffolding pole.

In the distance, he caught the wail of police sirens. He froze, and his forehead creased with worry. They were coming for him and he didn't know what to do.

To be continued…


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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Dear friends, if you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.

#2: Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 45

In the last post: Bert recouped his Rolex and engagement ring, but he wasn't stopping there…

Before Dick Charmer could protest, Bert snatched the pouch of stolen jewellery and shoved the unsuspecting man back against the tree trunk. “I’m in a hurry, so I’ll take the lot.”

“But you can’t,” groaned Dick Charmer. “I worked hard to get those.”

Bert dropped his hand on Dick Charmer’s shoulder, making it sag under the weight. “Sorry about that, but like what I told you before, I used to be a thief too.”

He didn't miss those days. Stealing other people's possessions had always left him feeling guilty. At first, he'd plundered cash from his mum's purse and his dad's wallet. But they were poor, and when he found his dear old mother crying one day, empty purse in hand, he stole from other people and made regular secret donations to their funds.

They weren't as bright as him, and apart from scratching their heads now and then, never suspected where the heaven-sent money had come from.

He'd hated school, and from the age of thirteen had played truant almost every day. He sneaked rides on buses and trains, stole comics and nosh from shops, and looted unlocked garages and garden sheds.

During one of his terms in prison, he made friends with Alf, and together they formed a partnership, working at a successful career of mugging. Even then, Bert had insisted they left women and children alone.

The crook in front of him now, Dick Charmer, concentrated on stealing from women and children, and Bert despised him for it. He lifted the gold chain and locket that Dick Charmer had planted on his neck, and dropped it over Dick Charmer’s.

“You can have it back. And like what you told me, Dobby the Bobby won't chase me when you tell him where it came from." He tugged on his bottom lip. Is that really what he'd told him? He shrugged. "Better hurry off before the police catch you with it.”

“You’re a thief,” screeched Dick Charmer.

“Yeah. Ain’t lost me knack, have I?”

Dick Charmer slammed his fists into the tree trunk behind his back and then scrubbed his face with his hands. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, you better run. No hard feelings.” Bert held his hand out for a shake. “Honour among thieves and all that crap.”

With an impatient snort, Dick Charmer took Bert’s hand. His flimsy little fingers disappeared inside Bert’s massive mitt, thumb and all. Then Bert squeezed and the muscles in his forearms bunched into knots.

Trapped in the vice-like grip, Dick Charmer sunk to his knees: teeth clenched, eyes crossed, and a gurgle in his throat.

To be continued…


The real world:

Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.