"Come on, come on, move it, idiot!"
Joanne beat impatiently on the steering wheel of
her Mercedes sports car. How stupid to get caught up in the rush hour! She had
planned to leave work early this afternoon, at three o'clock, to give herself a
chance to relax and have a bath before going out to a meeting of her local
tennis club. But just at ten to three a client had arrived, and it was two
hours before she had finished dealing with the man. When she came out of her
office, all the other staff in the Highlight Advertising Agency had already
left. Now she was stuck in a traffic jam in central Birmingham at 5:30, and at 6:30 she was
expected to be chairing a meeting of the tennis club. There would be no time
for any hot bath.
Ahead of her, the traffic was moving at last, and
she swung quickly out into the centre lane to turn right, and raced the last
half-mile through the quiet suburban streets to her house. Pulling up on the
driveway, she leapt out of the car and ran for the house. As she opened the
door, she nearly tripped over Sheba,
who was standing behind it.
"Hey, Sheba, hello," she said, bending
down to stroke the large alsatian dog's head, "I've got no time for you
now, but I'll take you out as soon as I get back from the tennis club."
It was then that she noticed something worrying
about the dog. Sheba
seemed to be coughing or choking, her stomach pumping repeatedly as if she was
trying to vomit something up. She was obviously in real discomfort and could
hardly breathe; her sad eyes gazed up at Joanne helplessly.
"Oh damn, this is all I need now," said
Joanne to herself, dropping her briefcase and bending down to take a closer
look, "a sick dog, today of all days!" On closer examination, Sheba did look
very sick, and Joanne realised she would have to take her down to the vet
immediately. Luckily, the vet's surgery was only a few streets away, and Joanne
quickly loaded the dog, still coughing and choking, into her car for the short
drive.
When she got there, the surgery was just about to
close for the day. Luckily, Dr. Sterne had not left yet, and when he saw the
state of Sheba,
he brought her quickly into his office.
"It looks like something is stuck in her
throat," said Dr. Sterne. It shouldn't take me too long to get it
out."
"Listen, doctor, I'm really in a rush to get to a
meeting -- can I leave her with you, and go and get changed? I'll be back in
ten minutes to pick her up, then I'll take her on to the meeting with me. Is
that OK?"
"Sure," said the doctor. "You get
going. I'll see you in ten minutes."
Joanne jumped back into her car again, and made
the quick trip round to her house in a couple of minutes. As she was once more
entering the hallway, the phone on the table by the door began to ring. She
picked it up, annoyed by this additional interruption to her plans.
"This is Dr. Sterne," said an anxious
voice. "Is that you, Joanne?"
"Of course it's me," said Joanne,
surprised at the sound of his voice, "no-one else lives here."
"I want you to get right out of that house
immediately," said the doctor's voice. "Right now. I'm coming round
right away, and the police will be there any time now. Wait outside for
us." The phone went dead. Joanne stared at it. She was confused, but she
was also a little frightened by the obvious fear in the voice of the doctor. She
replaced the receiver, then quickly backed out of the door and ran into the
street.
At that moment, a police car with its lights
flashing swung round the corner and screeched to a stop outside the house. Two
policemen got out. After briefly checking that she was the owner of the house,
they ran into the house through the still open door, without explaining
anything. Joanne was by now completely confused and very frightened. Then the
doctor arrived.
"Where's Sheba? Is she OK?" shouted
Joanne, running over to his car.
"She's fine, Joanne. I extracted the thing
which was choking her, and she's OK now."
"Well what's this all about? Why are the
police in my house?"
Just then, the two policemen reappeared from the
house, half-carrying a white-faced figure, a man in a dark grey sweater and
jeans, who, it seemed, could hardly walk. There was blood all over him.
"My God," said Joanne, "how did he
get in there? And how did you know he was there?"
"I think he must be a burglar," said
the doctor. "I knew he was there because when I finally removed what was
stuck in Sheba's
throat, it turned out to be three human fingers. I don't think he's a very
happy burglar."
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
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