P for Prejudice – Azure Spark. Part 16

[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

PREJUDICE – Sunday Early Morning

Police protection is deemed too pricey for our pay grade. Detective Inspectors might justify paying. Someone’s counting the police pennies again. And we’re not police for this practice day. We’re on our own as Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma – divers.

No bikes. A nondescript rental Vauxhall Astra parked outside a cheap B&B in Penrhos.

When I reported to Ffion that my investigation into the arson-robbery would have to wait, she agreed, “The assaults are our priority. Progress that case first and prove our strategy best.”

“Finding the right clothes is a challenge. Black or black.” We laugh. “I’m not dressing in pink.”

“Pink is pretty. But maybe not you. Just add a few spots of acceptable colour. A perfect performance requires sacrifices – all round. From disgruntled gift shop owner to officers undercover.”

Words we are acting on.

The padlocked path to Port Meudwy is open. We drive down to where fishermen are unloading their catches of lobsters and crabs. They pack the crustaceans into containers on pallets to be delivered by vans around the region.

Guto approaches us and points to a freshly painted clinker-built boat on a trailer.

“Your practice starts with pushing that trailer into the sea – if you know how.”

“By tractor.” Kama gestures at an ancient salt encrusted machine. “I’ll drive and Sioned will hitch us up.”

Guto nods then turns to the watching fishermen.

“Told you guys these genethod were smart. Now to see if they can handle an Aberdaron boat.”

The genethod – lasses – is said with praise. Relax.

“My uncle Pugh could never abide women in boats,” says one man who resembles my uncle, Ivor Pugh. “But he’s dead now.”

My uncle, Ivor Pugh, is alive and runs the family farm. Is this a distant Pugh relation? Is my cover blown? Or have we disguised ourselves enough? At least, Pugh politics have kept us apart from most of my family.

My attention shifts to my allotted task.

With the boat afloat, I secure her with the painter as ‘Rashmi’ parks the tractor and trailer under Guto’s direction.

My Pugh relation and Guto board another boat. He shouts across as Rashmi and I push off.

“Padrig is the man to prove yourself to. I build while he perfects the handling. Partners like you two.”

Like us. Unlikely. Guto only knows parts of our secret – the professional aspect.

Guto and Padrig row out some yards then hoist their sails. We do likewise and head south following the coastline of the Llŷn Peninsula.

Choppy waves and an erratic breeze test us. Gusts and becalming lulls to prove our worth. I probe Rashmi’s face as our teamwork makes up for lack of sailing time. This is a new phase – a giant leap from playing in dinghies for fun.

“You need to learn how to right one of our Aberdaron boats,” says Padrig. “Not hard but different. Do I need to show you how to capsize?”

We demonstrate that skill. Sit on the same side and let the boom out too far.

The water is our second home. Even when we are told to swim under the capsized craft before following the correct procedure to recover our previous position.

“Glad we wore our wetsuits underneath now.” I grin at Rashmi.

“Your colourful top and slacks will never dry in this weather.”

Weak sun and cold air. Discomfort is acceptable. Would Sioned worry about appearance as a pro-athlete?

“We need to polish up if photographers appear.”

She smiles in agreement as Guto points north and mouths, “Aberdaron“.

The wind picks up – but a headwind. We tack and tack until the manoeuvre becomes routine. Precision.

“Impressive, but racing is never so precise,” says Padrig. “Beware other boats performing moves to fool you. Weather and sea factors Will keep you alert.”

“Like diving,” says Rashmi. “We’ve learned to prepare. Performance ploys.”

Even more so as police. Alert keeps us ahead of the offenders – if we can only identify them.

We approach Aberdaron beach. Guto indicates where the water is shallowest and sandier.

“Pull her ashore over there. Then we can wander up to the pub. Final pointers over a pint – if you genethod drink.”

“We do. Always.”

Even on-duty – where necessary. But this time I’ll resist ordering my unusual favourite.

We pull the two boats ashore and wander at a purposeful pace up to the same pub where I began my investigation.

My stomach sinks when I see the same barman. Will he recognize me despite the garish outfit and streak-dyed hair?

Guto steps forward. “These are our new arrivals – Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma. They’re competing in the regatta, tomorrow. A round of your best Llŷn pale ale – four pints of Houdini.”

The barman studies me.

My heart flips. Recognition.

A wink and a nod.

“On the house, Guto.” He smiles. “Sioned, Rashmi, how far have you come? Not many visitors race here. Except the rare brave ones. Most tourists just watch.”

Glance around. Check the watching faces – holidaymakers. Locals. Listening. Gossip spreads fast.

“South America,” I reply, praying my Welsh lilt is buried under my pseudo-Spanish accent. “Patagonia. But we were born on the Llŷn near Pwllheli.”

“That makes you locals almost,” says Padrig. “Learn any Welsh before you left?” “

Breathe. Was our preparation too hasty? Does he suspect?

“If they went to Chubut Province in Argentina, they must know some,” says another voice. “Patagonia has a large Welsh community and the main colony is there.”

Recognising the voice, I say, “That’s why our families went there. Swimming took us to Puerto Madryn on the Golfo Nuevo, which is formed by the Península Valdés and the Punta Ninfas.” I pause my tourist talk to add for the Welsh speakers, “Mae’n wych bod yn gartref.

The locals all raise their pints.

Our tame journalist, Kristina picks up on the tourist confusion. “These ladies say it’s wonderful to be home. But Puerto Madryn has strong ties to here. It is twinned with Nefyn, just 13 miles away on the north coast of the Llŷn Peninsula. Excuse me as I need to interview these professional athletes. Make sure that you are here tomorrow, when they are competing on the first day of the Aberdaron Regatta.”

As people drift away, Kristina shakes hands with us.

“I’m Kristina Yoxall. We spoke on the phone. Please can we talk more – I’ll write a great story.” She holds up a camera. “And get a photo. Love those patterned tops. They must be traditional.”

She chats and helps us develop our personas further as our party finds a table outside overlooking the beach and sea.

Holidaymakers are gathering in the village. Not crowds like Llandudno or Porthmadog but those drawn by the simpler pastimes like sand castles, playing in the sea, and the regatta.

The interview probes and provides colour to our profiles – culminating in key questions.

“Can our wanderers challenge tomorrow?” asks Kristina. “Are they contenders?”

Guto and Padrig shrug.

But my relative says, “Perhaps. As I’ve said there are factors – including local advantage. They have skills and guts. Maybe one day.”

“And you are a favourite, Padrig. As in past years,” says Guto.

We all laugh, and I slap Padrig on the back.

Recognition. My heart beats faster.

The Swedish woman is watching us. Pretending to peer out to sea.

Precisely as planned. Bait taken.

Kristina follows my gaze. Takes out her mobile. Glances at the screen.

Pric pwdin. Idiot colleague. I need to hurry. Can we do the photo by the boats, then I must leave you.”

We stride down to the beach and pose with our boats. Group photo, then us the two pretenders.

We part, Kristina to her pretend assignment, Guto and Padrig to Porth Meudwy.

Genethod, Padrig and I will go ahead. We have work to do – boats to paint. Follow when you’re ready. Practice as much as you need to along the coast. And master that boat – with skills not force. She’s another geneth.

Our builder is as quick as our journalist. Our secret is safe.

We prepare to launch, but I play for time.

“Do we need provisions, Rashmi? Or will our B&B in Penrhos provide everything?”

“Only basics. Anyway, I need a better face cleanser for this climate. And we need diving supplies – but they can wait. We’ve no competitions for a fortnight.”

“Maybe we can help each other.”

We turn. The Swedish couple smile at us.

“That would be kind,” I say. “You’re local?”

The woman laughs. Potent, poisonous, and the trigger for my tattoos.

L for Lies and L for Lure.

“Not exactly. But we know the Llŷn Peninsula. We’ve been here awhile. And our yacht is moored at Llandudno.”

The man steps forward. 6’3″. Blond sun-scored hair. Tanned. Athletic and muscular. Like a panther.

“We have a small job for divers that pays well – especially the way you to handle that boat.”

Curb enthusiasm. But reel them in.

I let Rashmi continue as planned. “Interesting. We’re open to persuasion. But we have questions –”

“– As do we.” He hands us both GEE business cards – Peder & Pia Pilkvist. “Can we meet for a quiet meal? Pick you up at 6 p.m at your place. Our treat.”

Presumptive means desperate. Time must be tightening. What is the cargo?

My tattoos twist in pain. But only D for Drugs and that feels wrong.

“If there’s money on offer,” says Rashmi. “Sioned and I have expenses. So, yes – if you’re buying.”

“Always,” replies Pia. “One initial question. Wales or Argentina? Where are your loyalties?”

Where is this going? My heart, pounds nerves jangle. A test of what? Not rugby.

“We dive for ourselves – for the country that rewards us best. Patagonia yesterday. Maybe Wales tomorrow. I have only one loyalty – my dive partner. Rashmi.”

The Swedes study us, then whisper to each other in Swedish – something about ‘älskande‘. Lovers. Us or them? What do they know about us? Has the office prejudice seeped out from a jealous colleague?

U for Unwary and Unexpected. Q for Queer and Questions. E for Evasion and Evaluation.

QUELL. The fire for my lover? Or the fear building?


Puerto Madryn, Chubut, Argentina –
Banfield

For further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride

O for Obstructions – Azure Spark. Part 15

[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

OBSTRUCTIONS – Saturday Late Afternoon

Odious odours and smoke obscure the scene at the junction of Snowdon and Madog. I thread my way through the onlookers and under the police tape. The fire was fierce, destroying most of the corner building’s façade. A charred signboard hangs dangerously loose.

A group of North Wales firefighters are dousing down. One acts officious.

“Late as always, Meinwen. I solved this hours ago.”

Unlikely. Owen Anwyl might be a fire investigator, but his solutions depend on others.

I’ve known him all my life, but I’m the eldest sibling by a year.

“Some of us have other cases to occupy our hours.”

His smirk prepares me for more taunts.

But a man in blue slacks, red shirt and white flannel jacket pushes his way through the barrier towards us. 5 foot 11, athletic, tanned, dyed black hair.

“Hugh Arbuthnot. I own this shop.” His voice pronounces every word like another royal invader. His icy stare flicks between us, then he selects my brother in his dusty uniform – casts me away. “Officer, I need to know what happened here.”

His equally posh lawyer will be next – or his accountant to count the losses.

“A car mounted the pavement and skidded into your shop front. Then the ruptured fuel tank exploded. Petrol – that’s the acrid odour. A simple accident.”

Owen leads the owner around the burnt out 4×4 – torched by the ram-raiders. No accident. Nor the petty thief we at CID are tracking.

I assess the interior. Any robbery evidence is obliterated by arson. Convenient – for the perpetrators.

Tattoos tingling, I tap my bracer. A for Arson. R for Robbery. O for Organised. Deliberate. ROAD. But not road rage.

“Why the police tape? Do you suspect a crime?”

“No, just routine to keep onlookers back.” More Owen bull-shit.

“I disagree, this is a crime scene.”

“Who are you?”

I’m not dressed as a cop. So, I reach inside my biking leathers for my warrant card.

“An opinionated observer who’s operating without her lezzie partner – for once.”

I scowl at Owen, but the posh Englishman flinches – one gesture short of crossing himself.

“I’m Detective Sparkle Anwyl, CID. This officer requested our involvement in this suspected arson, which I believe was a ram raid robbery.”

Glancing at my ID, Hugh Arbuthnot frowns, hands behind his back. “I demand another detective – a second opinion. Not from someone like you.”

“So, not Welsh,” I say, twisting his insult. “Not easy in North Wales. But my partner is Tamil – her family immigrated from South India. And she’s a more senior detective. Plus, our boss, Detective Inspector Ffion Baines approves of our teamwork. Now, do you want to obstruct us or resolve this case?”

I’m out of order but annoyed. Ffion would agree. Owen is stirring. He requested me on purpose. Petty sibling rivalry.

A for Arson and Arbuthnot. R for Ram-raid and Robbery. O for Owner and Obstructions. D for Disagree and Disgrace.

ROAD. Ignoring the rage, where to? Trace the 4 x 4.

“Officer Anwyl, finish off your fire investigation, then please allow our forensic team to gather what they need – like that vehicle.”

At the outside corner of the shop, I wait for Hugh Arbuthnot. He will talk to me. He has no choice.

I gather more evidence. The angle of the crash is deliberate. The torched vehicle designed to obliterate evidence but not destroy the building. Measured. Observed in advance.

Hugh interrupts.

“My official objection will be lodged. I can give my opinion but no more than that.”

“That’s your right, sir. For now, I need to know how long you’ve owned this shop, what would the robbers take, and have there been any other occurrences?”

He paces, throwing glances at the building and the burnt-out car.

“My wife bought The Jewel Box two years ago.” He grits his teeth and taps his left foot. “She died in the spring. I’ve attempted to run this gift shop, but I have my own work. I’m a movie producer with a demanding professional schedule.”

He hands me a fancy card – Hugh B Arbuthnot, Oriole Productions, Executive Producer.

“Who runs the shop when you’re working?”

“My daughter, Olivia and her husband.” He snorts, head held high. “Poulsen.” He slaps his left palm to his forehead. “He mixes in shady circles. Some of his cronies did this.”

Opportunistic thieves? Or convenient coincidence? Whose production?

For those that wondered, yes this is my #WEP/IWSG post for April so part of the 2019 WEP/IWSG Challenge. This incident will be explored further over the course of the next four #WEP/IWSG posts. In the meantime, please enjoy Azure Spark, another case for Sparkle Anwyl and her colleagues.

Word Count 731: MPA

Comments are welcome as usual, but for the WEP/IWSG Challenge, the following applies:

(FCA welcome – if you want to send one, just let me know in the comments.)

For further details on this A to Z theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride

N for Narcosis – Azure Spark. Part 14

[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

NARCOSIS – Saturday Afternoon

Nurturing natural nooks enhances our wild Welsh landscape. The sea looks unspoilt, but we fear what lurks unseen. Humanity the criminal.

Crime never sleeps.

Not this weekend. At 4 p.m. there are reports to tackle and the NWP nicks are filling up.

Ensure we are ready for tomorrow. Check everything, While Kama confirms that Wiley is ready to submit the fraud case to CPS.

“It won’t be a late night,” she says, her tone reassuring. “We’ve an early start.”

“Nemesis draws nearer for our criminals – if they show.”

“They will, cariad. They need divers – and we’re qualified.”

What am I overlooking? Unknown nightmare scenarios.

Stifle fear and suppress the nausea. Ignore glances from possibly dangerous colleagues. Kama has zero probable names. Hoax or hazard? Nerves jangling.

My phone rings. Our new desk sergeant – the one who replaced my tad.

“Uniform have a prisoner you need to interview. Ellis Evans. Arrested in Nannau near Dolgellau for dealing drugs.”

A new development. Relax. Prioritise.

In the interview room, seated beside a uniform colleague, I switch on the tape recorder, giving the time and my name.

“Suspect is Ellis Evans. No lawyer has been requested.”

I place eight bags of cannabis on the table. “These yours? For sale?”

He squints. “I never sell narcotics. These are a friend’s for keeping safe.” He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“And your friend’s name?”

“Vic Vaughn. He’s in hospital, so I keep for him.”

String him along.

“Bangor? When did you see him last?”

“A few days ago. I can’t remember.”

“Amnesia. Narcosis. Ever been treated for those?”

“No. I’ve never been in hospital. I not register with NHS.”

I lean forward. Open his file. Produce a photo of him injured and in a coma. Slide it over.

“Never? Not at Bangor Hospital?”

His face goes ashen and drops. Sick at the sight of his injuries. And more.

“I only remember leaving the building. I had to get outside and breathe. To escape everything.”

“The drugs?”

“We never knew what is happening. They never told us nothing.”

“Never told you and Stefan Mikaelsson – your friend. His drugs? You ready to tell him that, Ivan Tjäder?”

He shakes his head and cries.

“I sell drugs to escape, to go home back to Sweden. I won’t dive for them. Where is Stefan?”

“Safe. Tell me everything, and you will be safe here to.”

His confession tallies with his friend’s. One less loose end, but the kingpins remain unidentified.

As I walk back upstairs, Ffion waves me into her office. She pushes a file across her desk.

“I fear the incidents have escalated a level. This time it’s not a petty crime but arson. Can you investigate this evening? The fire officer has asked for you specifically.”

Do we have a name?”

Her look fills me with dread. I start tapping my bracer furiously.

D for Drugs and Dread. U for Untimely and Urgent. S for Sailing, Smoke and Sweat.

“Owen Anwyl.”

O for Opportunist and Owen. I for Insensitive and Investigation.

ODIOUS.

My odious brother. That’s a mutual objection.

For further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride

M for Mayhem – Azure Spark. Part 13

[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

MAYHEM – Saturday Morning

Melodious murmurs mingle with the churning surf and rival bird calls. Makes these memories matter. Kama and me – melded.

“The dive ship will take us out to the final wreck. This will be your last dive and will test your capability at depths of nearly 30 metres. But be prepared for the unexpected – this is not a tourist excursion. And I won’t be easy on you.”

The training officer, Inspector Varley, hasn’t let up all morning – not since our 4 a.m start. Intensive workouts, testing dives, and mental mazes to tax us – and prepare us. No normal course.

“Move. We’re not on a shopping trip. Anwyl, you push us off with that boat hook. And put some muscles into it – if you have any.”

Ignore the windup. My wetsuit moulds to me for warmth and protection but it sculpts and reveals. Kama’s toned body is as marked.

I push us off. The coxswain steers the ship out beyond a rocky promontory. But Kama and I must row us further in an inflatable towards a jagged outcrop – even though it has an outboard.

Our scuba gear rechecked from tank to goggles, we descend into the majestic depths.

The corroded metal merchantman looks vibrant with fish and seaweeds. The ripped hull and damaged superstructure indicate the mayhem of the storm that wrecked her on the rocks above.

Varley indicates we are to enter through the main breach in the hull. Kama on point, me behind – ahead of our mentor-taskmaster.

Tattoos tingle. Nerves jangle. I dive down and left as a black- clad figure with a tinted mask fires a spear gun at Kama.

I surprise the second attacker by dolphin-kicking into him. Improvised Jiu-Jitsu stuns him.

Kama anticipates the spear, weaving into attack mode. She disarms her attacker gesturing with the grabbed spear-gun for him to swim up to our deep compression rendezvous.

I follow with my captive at the point of his gun.

Varley gestures at his watch and shakes his head.

Resolved too fast. That’s just us.

Back on the dive ship, he struggles to suppress his chuckle.

“Fastest resolution to my ambush ever. You ladies are good enough to be in my Marine unit – not in CID.”

“Is that a job offer?” Kama raises her eyes as she looks towards me. “We come as a team.”

One of the unmasked officers laughs and thumps her on the back. “With your manoeuvres, I’d be out of a job. I’ve never seen some of them. What are they?”

“A melange of my Tamil martial art of silambam and Sparkle’s jiu-jitsu.”

“As my partner said, we’re a team so train as one.”

Inspector Varley gestures for the coxswain to return to shore.

“You two moved as one unit through that rupture. Instinctively prepared. You’ve passed – and yes, if you ever want to become maritime police and face marauders at sea, I’d welcome you. But I suspect CID won’t let you go. So, good luck on tomorrow’s nautical challenge and get those crooks.”

My stomach churns. We’ve colleagues that want us gone. Ones that despise minorities like us. And moving to another force won’t resolve that.

Tap my bracer.

M for Mayhem and Minorities. A for Ambush. S for Silambam. N for Nautical. E for Exertion.

NAMES.

“That your secret weapon, Anwyl?”

“Mnemonics are my mental ally. Keep me ahead.”

If we can identify the real attackers and what they are smuggling from Sweden. Narcotics?


A rigid-hulled inflatable boat (RIB) used by the
North West Police Underwater Search & Marine  Unit. Note that it is marked as both POLICE and HEDDLU, as it operates in both England and Wales. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Mark_Hemans

For further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride

L for Lethality – Azure Spark. Part 12

[Background music at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

LETHALITY – Friday afternoon

Legal loopholes challenge us. CPS must prepare for canny lawyers. I need to ensure we have everything.

Eyes closed, my mind plays games with scenarios. Be prepared.

Ivan Tjäder, our runner might be more than the loophole. Did he see me? Was this coma a pretence? The doctor would’ve known. But Stefan fooled him.

My shudder is premature – if Ivan is found by us first. I check the latest sightings – nothing.

But Ffion has sent me the petty theft incidents. Nothing expensive. Nor anything the pawnshops will bother with. Very likely gift shop purchases. Sentimental trinkets the professional jewel thief would ignore. An opportunist petty thief? A spate that merits monitoring. So, I give Ffion my assessment.

I’m assessing my next lateral step, when a message flashes up.

“Detective Dike Anwyl. We are watching you and your lesbian bitch. No perversion in NWP. Resign or regret staying.”

I shiver. My heart beat races. Dizziness. Pain.

The first stone, and we’ve only been doing our jobs. Is this hatred or jealousy?

Rigidity dissolves. The bitter tang in my mouth. Spit. My lip bleeds.

I can’t tell Kama.

No. I must tell Kama.

Ffion?

Not yet.

Are we safe at the regatta?

No cop would dare expose us – would they? To be rid of us? If we fail that proves our lack of worth.

Focus on the case. Ignore the haters. I’m queer and proud.

Lost cargo – jettisoned overboard. My hunch. I open the message from HMRC in Pembroke. The manifest from the Scandinavian freighter shows items missing – washed off by waves during a lightning storm. ‘Medical supplies.’ Drugs?

But no loss report or insurance claim shows in any records I can access. Buried or dismissed?

Diving might reveal more. And probing.

I ring forensics.

“Liam, our guest confirmed they were attacked with gaffs and staves.”

“Do we have a crime scene?”

“Nothing definite. A jetty, perhaps a marina near Llandudno. We haven’t the resources to search for a scene. Not yet.”

“Austerity biting at your budget too. Crazy with crime not sleeping.”

“That’s what my late tad would say.”

Tears come freely at his memory. Cancer was the crime that took him. The toughest adversary.

“Wise man.”

“He was – the best.” I close my eyes. Breathe. “I’ll ring when I have more. Oh, they had been sailing.”

Waves of tingling as I replace the phone.

A for Austerity and Adversary. M for Medical and Manifest. L for Lightning, Lesbian and Legal. U for Unknown.

MAUL. Who is wanting to maul us? Lethality unleashed. No matter. The trap should be set. I check the online news.

“Champion divers choose Aberdaron Regatta.”

For further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride

K for Knuckle-duster – Azure Spark. Part 11

[Background music at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]

KNUCKLE-DUSTER – Friday Midday

Kama’s knowledge of kickboxing keeps me alert to her moves in the gym. One hesitation and I’m flattened Nan bread. She gives no quarter. Nor do I.

 Sweat washes off as she soaps my hair.

“How soon is the deep-water course – and the regatta?”

“Tomorrow is the training on Ynys Môn. Anglesey has great dive sites. Sunday, we try out our Aberdaron boat. Monday, we race. So, no pressure.”

“Just that spot where your palm is playing on my right cheek. But enjoyable.”

I kiss her. “Just returning your attentive touch. We better sneak out separately. Remember the warning.”

There are strange looks when I return to the office, even though Kama is back conferring with Wiley. He’s proved one of our understanding friends – even if he’s captivated with Vivian. Supportive friends are too few. If only others were like PC Megan Matthews and her husband Cefin who protect our secret.

A new email arrives. Kristina Yoxall, our tame journalist.

“Story understood and appearing as attached in this afternoon’s online edition. If you approve. I expect my usual kickback – advance details of another successful outcome.”

The story is brief and baited:

Returning Tremadog athletes, Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma, 23 and 28, have announced they are entering the Aberdaron Regatta. Their first race is on Monday. They paid special tribute to Guto Thomas of Porth Meudwy, who restored the boat they are racing. In advance of their practice day on Sunday, the former champion divers said, “Our return to the Llyn Peninsula, where we grew up, is a great honour.”

If the lure isn’t taken, I’m stumped. For now, my heart surges. Suggesting a few word changes, I email Kristina. Then ring Guto.

“Mister Thomas, this is Sparkle Anwyl. Did you get my message?”

“About a boat for our regatta? Yes. I have the perfect one. Bit fancy and she should turn heads like any fine lass. But she won’t win anything else.”

“Other than catching the right breeze, the aim is to catch our attackers.”

“Suppose you know what you’re doing. What about in a boat?”

We are more familiar with being in the water, but I refrain from saying that.

“All advice is welcome. Can you help us? We aim to collect the boat early Sunday –”

“– If you are here at 5 AM, we can help. Won’t breathe a word about you being Heddlu. You’re one of us. Goodwill. And good sailing.”

“Thanks. We’ll be there prompt – Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma. Former champion deep-sea divers.”

A chuckle confirms Guto is our man – our boat builder.

A pleasant tingle as I press my bracer. G for Guto and Goodwill. L for Llyn and Lure. A for Aberdaron. E for Edition.

LEGAL. Are we? Will CPS approve of our actions? Does it matter if the Swedish kingpins use every weapon against us? Not just gaffs, staves and knuckle-dusters, but knives and guns.

Lethal force.

For further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.

Other A to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html

^*^

And now for something completely different.

“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride