Predicament On The Prom

CRIME SHORT STORY BY JULIA DOUGLAS

Could Leah get out of this spot with her dignity intact?

Her first mistake was wearing a floaty red dress with polka dots.

Her second was parking opposite the post office on the windy promenade.

Leah’s third blunder was standing on the kerb with one knee on the driver’s seat and leaning into her car to get a large parcel from the passenger seat.

A strong gust of wind told her that the hem of her dress had been blown halfway up her back.

This was confirmed by a wolf whistle from two passing lads.

Her face on fire, Leah backed out of the car so fast that she knocked down the locking button on her car’s door with her elbow.

That was mistake number four.

Her fifth and final error was to turn around with her hands full with her parcel and elbow her car door closed.

The sea wind chose that moment to blow her hem up to waist height.

Clunk, clunk! The car door closed and locked.

Leah tried to step forward and found that she couldn’t.

Her dress was trapped in the door.

The front was pulled up so tightly that she risked flashing the passers-by.

Frantically balancing her parcel on her thigh, Leah tried to open her door, but the handle flapped uselessly.

It was locked!

Through the window she saw her key fob hanging from the ignition.

Further into the car, her phone lay in the tray beside the gear stick.

Her handbag was on the passenger seat.

What was she going to do now?

Leah tried to tug her dress free, but it wouldn’t budge.

“You’ll have to take it off, love!” came a shout from a little way down the prom.

The lads who had whistled at her a moment ago were standing with several other motley-looking characters.

They all wore paint-speckled purple overalls and yellow vests that bore the words Community Payback.

Their paint tins and brushes suggested they were repainting the railings along the prom.

Or would have been, if they weren’t all enjoying Leah’s predicament.

A commanding woman’s voice boomed out.

“That’s enough of that, everyone. Back to work!”

A motherly middle-aged woman strolled towards Leah in similar community service attire.

To Leah’s relief, the badge on her lapel said Supervisor.

“Take no notice of that lot,” the woman said cheerily. “They’re just a bunch of naughty school kids who never grew up.

“I’m Anne. Let’s see if we can get you free.”

The supervisor strolled around Leah’s car in an unhurried manner that suggested there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen in her time – and that she hadn’t been fazed by any of it.

Anne tried the other doors, but nothing would open.

“Could you call the recovery service for me?” Leah pleaded. “Hopefully they can open it.”

“Of course I will.” Anne took out her phone.

A few minutes later she reported back to Leah.

“They’ll be as quick as they can. I’ll wait with you until they arrive.”

“Thank you so much.”

Pressing against the side of the car, Leah gripped her parcel like a shield in front of her.

“Are you warm enough in that dress?” Anne asked.

“Fine, thanks,” Leah replied, though she was starting to feel chilly in the bright but windy weather.

Not that she could do much about it, with her jacket on the back seat of her locked vehicle.

“Everything all right, miss?” one of a pair of patrolling policemen asked.

“All under control. Help is on its way.” Leah’s heart skipped self-consciously.

When the police had moved on, some of the community service party wandered up.

“I bet I could open it if I had a hacksaw blade or a wire coat hanger,” a sandy-haired youth said.

“You couldn’t open a tin of peaches,” a girl with punky black hair mocked.

“What you need is a directional microphone,” a bony skinhead added. “You record the signal as someone zaps their car locked, then you play it back to unlock it.”

“Not much use when the keys are inside,” the girl pointed out.

“Quicker just to smash the window,” the first youth reasoned.

Leah wondered how her life choices had led to her being pinned to her car by her dress and surrounded by ruffians discussing car theft techniques.

She was glad none of the youths appeared to have a hacksaw blade or coat hanger about their person.

She dreaded to think of the damage they might cause trying to open her car.

While they began swapping stories, Leah glanced over her shoulder to the post office.

She hoped she wouldn’t miss the second collection.

If she didn’t get her parcel off, she’d be in trouble.

It was her haste to post it that had made her so careless with her car door.

She was relieved when a recovery van pulled up and Anne shooed the young offenders back to their painting duties.

“How did you get yourself in that pickle?” The recovery man chortled.

“Never mind how I got into it,” she snapped. “Can you get me out of it?”

“Budge up as far as you can,” he instructed.

Leah shuffled to the side, red-faced, and fixed her gaze on the hazy spot where the sea met the sky.

After 10 minutes of muttering and cursing, the recovery man turned to her.

“Sorry, love. The security on these cars is too good. I’ll phone the office and see what they say.”

After some time talking on the phone in his van, the man returned.

“They’re going to get a special key from the manufacturer, but unfortunately it won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Leah shrieked. “I can’t stand here all night.”

“You’ll have to slip your dress off,” the recovery man suggested. “I’m sure someone could lend you a coat.”

Leah couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

In warmer weather, she’d sunbathed in a bikini on the sand below the prom, but stripping off by the roadside was a completely different prospect.

“How will I get home when my money, cards and phone are in the car?” she demanded.

“I can give you a lift in the community service minibus,” Anne offered. “We’ve also probably got a spare pair of overalls you can wear.”

Leah imagined the indignity of being dropped off in front of her neighbours in a pair of overalls.

“My house key is in the car, too.” Leah indicated her tantalisingly out-of-reach key fob. “Even if I get home, I’ll be locked out.”

“I’ll be off,” the recovery man said. “Someone will call you when we have the key.”

“Thanks a lot!” Leah snapped at his retreating back, trying not to cry.

“Couldn’t he open it?” the sandy-haired offender asked, wandering back. “We’ll smash the window.”

He eagerly looked around for something to do the job with.

Leah dreaded the wilful destruction of her car’s glass, but she couldn’t see an alternative.

How could her day have gone so wrong from one stupid blunder?

“I bet my brother could open it,” the girl said. “Can I bend the rules and use the phone I’m not supposed to have on me, Auntie Anne?”

“Well, under the circumstances,” Anne allowed. “Shall we let her brother have a try, Leah?”

“I’d rather that than break the window.”

While the girl wandered off, talking into her phone, Leah noticed a young man taking pictures of her.

“Stop that!” she protested.

“I’m from the local paper.” The snapper called back cheerfully. “Can I take your name?”

“No, you can’t!”

As if she hadn’t drawn enough attention to herself, Leah cringed at the thought of being displayed in the paper.

“Let’s give the lady some privacy, shall we?” Anne helpfully stood in front of Leah to block the photographer’s view.

A few minutes later, a green Mini pulled up.

A man stepped out in blinding trainers, blue jeans and a red windcheater.

His very short hair was jet black atop a chiselled face.

“My sister said you need a hand.” He flashed a reassuring smile.

“I’m Ned.” Checking that no-one was watching too closely, he reached into his windcheater and spoke quietly.

“If you wouldn’t mind looking over there, so you don’t see how I do this.”

Her face red, Leah turned sideways again.

This time it was for only a few seconds before her heart leapt at the familiar clunk of her car unlocking.

The door opened and her dress swished back into place.

“My hero!” Leah spun around. “How did you do that?”

“Trade secret.” Ned winked.

Whatever magical implement he had used was back inside his windcheater.

“Can I buy you a coffee to help you get over your ordeal?” Ned asked.

“Well . . .” As good-looking as he was, Leah hesitated.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a car thief!” Ned laughed. “Well, not any more. When I was a teenager, there wasn’t a vehicle I couldn’t make off with in seconds – until they caught me.

“Luckily, a kind police inspector got together with my probation officer and the judge and made me an offer,” he explained. “I could either go to prison, or I could put my skills to good use.

“So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past five years. I advise police and car makers on car crime.”

He put his arm around his sister.

“Hopefully this spell of community service will make my little sis rethink her life choices, too.

“You can’t change anyone, though – they have to decide for themselves.”

“He don’t half go on.” The girl rolled her eyes affectionately.

“Perhaps we can have that coffee, then,” Leah replied. “And you, too, Anne?”

“Not for me.” Anne laughed. “I’ve got to keep an eye on these tearaways.

“And not for you, either,” Anne told the girl. “Get back to your painting!”

“Looks like it’s just me and you, then.” Ned smiled.

As they crossed the prom, Leah was glad Ned had told her about his work with the police.

She’d have to be careful what she said to him, but just because he was good with locks didn’t mean he had x-ray eyes.

There was no way he could know that her parcel was full of money that she was posting across the country as part of a laundering ring.

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