The Snake of Splott

“For fuck’s sake!” Not the start of another short story adventure thought Frane. He had the sinking feeling that he knew what was inside. But who was it? Ken Frane went downstairs and got some scissors from a kitchen drawer and a pair of latex gloves from a handy dispenser beside the fridge. 

The cool, shocked breeze of a Llanishen summer Sunday is disturbed by the chimes of an Ice Cream wagon playing the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly accompanied by the sound of Ennio Morricone turning in his grave.

“Terry! What’s with the ice cream wagon?”

“I’ve gone into selling ice creams”.

“Ask a silly question”.

“Well, you know, the private detective work I was getting, wasn’t paying much”. Heston looks pointedly at Frane.

“It wasn’t paying anything and since Inspector Clouseau here was responsible for the loss of my camper van, I’ve had to think on my feet”.

Detective Inspector Peter Price was having a game of tennis in the courts in Bute Park across the road to Central Police Station. Docks Division were taking on Central in a game of doubles. It was the one bourgeois pleasure that he allowed himself. Since watching Bjorn Borg, Jimmy Connors and then the spoiled brat John McEnroe he had always harbored ambitions of a killer lob and serve given the chance. He was hoping that this Sunday was the day that Cardiff Bay Police smashed Central but it was a day that would bring the whole of Cardiff to a standstill quicker than a Covid 19 pandemic lockdown. 

Craig looks across at Frane.

“This isn’t going to turn into yet another caper Ken?”

“It might do Craig, it might do”.