A Small Misunderstanding.

You would think that the police would be more interested if you rang up complaining of a bomb under your car. Especially when there are children in the house. Although I suppose that technically speaking my child wasn't in the house, and I was a little circumspect about the details, but still.

              Let me explain...

             Anna and Giorgio, having spent the morning playing in the garden and being abused by a group of youths who were hanging about, went off to nursery (and the mother and toddler Tae-Kwon-Do class they've been attending recently). I was due to go and pick them up so went out to check out the car for any danger signals (I have been doing this a lot more recently - for reasons I will explain at length somewhere else...)

             I noticed some wires hanging down at the centre of the car, underneath and, thinking it was something that had come loose, reached under to pull them out. It was as my hand clutched at the wires that I felt a solid mass shift and bump against the exhaust pipe, along with a loud ticking noise.

            Now I know that most people would have thought nothing of it, but as a jobbing actor and part time international spy I have to be a lot more careful than most people. And I remembered that there had been a bit of a bump and some rattling when I'd driver to the supermarket this morning. Which I had forgotten to check out on my return. It was for this reason that I ran into the street screaming and waving my arms about, frightening the group of youths who now had their BMX's and who were, presumably, preparing for the Olympics by kicking the shit out of next doors fence and falling over whilst swearing and throwing cans of energy drinks at old ladies.

             I told them to clear the area as quickly as possible and they told me to fuck off. So be it, I thought, That's natural selection at it's finest.  I then pulled out my mobile and phoned the police, explaining as quickly as possible to the somewhat reticent call taker that there was a slight problem with my car and that I required assistance as soon as possible. She asked for my postcode and the first line of my address. I told her. She said that nothing was coming up for that address. I explained, somewhat tetchily, that there would be nothing at that address if she didn't get here soon. She asked for the details again and I swore and told her. This time they came up. She said I had given her different details last time and I gently explained that she must have inputted them wrong and then she warned me not to swear. She then asked me what the problem was and, so as not to panic any passers by, I told her quite calmly that there was a major incident unfolding concerning my car (yes, I admit that I perhaps I screamed just a little, but who wouldn't given the circumstances). The can of energy drink bouncing off my head didn't help.

           I could hear the stiffness in her voice as she explained that she would pass the details on but they didn't have a car available in the area at the moment but would have someone check it out as soon as one became available. It took several seconds before I realised I was swearing into mid air.

          Unsure how to proceed, I phoned my CIA handler, Sam Smith (not his real name...I think). For a change, he answered immediately. I could hear voices jabbering away in a foreign language - possibly Russian. They sounded quite agitated. Sam actually sounded more nervous than I'd ever heard him.
           "Can't speak right now," he almost whispered, "I'm in the middle of something, darling..."

          "Won't keep you a second," I said, "but there's a bit of a situation with a bomb under my car and the police won't come out, so..."

          "MIKE! I canNOT speak right NOW!"

          The noise in the background seemed to be getting louder and more agitated.

          "But what should I do? It could go off and hurt someone. Even me."

          "Look! Call them back and give the codeword Anklesocks and tell them there is a terrorist incident unfolding and you require assistance as soon as...AAaaaargh!"

          There was a sound of gunshots and the line went dead.

          Oops. He was likely to be very cross with me the next time we spoke but I didn't have time to worry about it now. I called the police back.
           Once I had given my details again I heard the call taker sigh. What are the chances of getting the same person twice in a row? Surely there's more than one? Or have the cutbacks really started to kick in? I could tell she was about to fob me off again when I blurted out "Anklesocks!"
           There was a long silence, except for a series of clicks and buzzes on the line. Then a man came on sounding very brusque. He quickly asked for details and reassured me that help was on it's way and that I was not to leave the area.

          "But there's a-" I began, but he cut me off.
           "Hush, Sir. Not over an open line." And the phone went dead.

          I stared at it for a moment and then felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned, one of the BMX boys punched me in the face, whilst the others laughed.

          "What are you...?" I gurgled, clutching at my nose.

          "Shut up, Grandad," he hissed, and took the phone from my hand. Was this the bomber? "Give me you car keys."

          I started fishing in my pocket whilst his friends advanced on me. He took the keys and he and his friends piled into the front and back seats of the car.
           "You'll be sorry," I said.

          "Oh, yeah?" He came back over to where I lay and raised his foot to kick me, and then we both froze, as we listened to the sound of sirens building in the distance. Then a helicopter appeared over the rooftops. Wow! Talk about efficiency. BMX boy looked as though he didn't know whether to shit or go blind, but in the end he did neither and just jumped into the driver's seat, almost running me over as he reversed into the street.
          They didn't get very far. Several police vans and cars screeched into the end of the road and cut him off, whilst several very large men armed with very large guns surrounded the car and the helicopter hovered overhead, a loud voice crackling through the bullhorn that they were not to move, or the armed response unit would have no choice but to open fire. No cars available in the area indeed, I thought. What is the world coming to if the police lie to you like that?
          I looked around, dazed. Then I spotted Giorgio's remote controlled LovePuppy lying on the drive. The one his Grandma had bough him for his birthday. His favourite toy. There were wires hanging out of it's belly, where I must have run over it this morning, and it's legs were still clicking and ticking away as it tried to crawl off up the path.
          Oops.
          The police took me in for questioning, obviously. You can't even be assaulted and mistake a child's toy for a bomb without bringing all kinds of trouble down on your head. I explained that I had gone out that afternoon to my car and a gang of youths had attacked me, taking my phone and car keys. I had heard one of them on the saying something about terrorists and anklesocks but had assumed it was some kind of youth slang for stealing a car.
          I don't know if they believed me or not but they decided to keep my phone. They asked a few more questions and the lady who had answered the phone on my original calls couldn't be sure it was me that she had spoken to as the caller 'had seemed a lot more camp, or maybe just effeminate'. Cheek. I was under duress at the time.
          When I got back, there was a crater and burn marks on the tarmac at the end of the road, where they had to blow up my car just in case there was an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) attached to it. I explained what had happened (the edited version I had shared with the police) to Anna, but I could tell she was even less inclined to believe me than the police were.
          Still. Everything turned out okay in the end. Although Sam doesn't seem to be answering his phone at the moment. Maybe he's still pissed off with me.