Neighbourhood Watch

Here's a story I wrote for a bit of a laugh - see what you think.

Oh... and a big shout out to Skinny Paul from Hull, my first ever stalker!

Neighbourhood Watch

Karl Robson scratched the beer belly protruding from over his tracksuit bottoms, burped loudly and flicked what was left of his cigarette over the balcony of his tower block onto the vandalised children’s playground below. Only then did he contemplate the two, nervous looking, middle-aged women standing before him.

“What?” he grunted.

Ida Gray considered the yob in front of her, he’d moved in next-door a few months ago and they hadn’t really seen eye to eye since. He was just like the ones you read about in the paper, ill educated, ignorant and totally selfish.

“The residents committee have received a number of complaints about the noise Mr. Robson and as representatives of the residents of the estate we were wondering if you could turn the music down a little. You don’t have to turn it off, I mean we both enjoy a bit of rock n roll ourselves but if you could just show some consideration we’d appreciate it.”

Karl eyed them up and down; they must be about fifty he reckoned. Not past it yet, he was thirty five himself, but Jesus they were old before their time these two. Look at them; button up cardigans and sensible shoes, two old maids, probably never done anything out of the ordinary in their lives.

“I’ll tell you what girls,” he said, “I’ll do what I want in my flat and you do what you want in yours. If my four kids can sleep then you shouldn’t have no bother should ya?”

As he was talking his two Staffordshire bull terriers appeared and growled at them, Ada Gray jumped back scared and Ida winced as one of the dogs pushed forward. Karl enjoyed that; it let them know their place and what might happen if they got too nosey.

He dragged the dogs back to make sure that they didn’t actually attack the old busybodies, they’d certainly run to the law and he didn’t want that, not with Winston due with the gear. They were about to launch themselves as the new drug barons on the estate and had a few trial customers putting the word out for them. There’d been no comeback from whoever was running things at present so now they planned on going all out and as such he didn’t want any police attention.

“Asbo, Twoc, good boys. Back inside now and lie down. LIE DOWN.”

With that he looked back up at the pensioners frightened faces, smiled and slammed the door.

Sighing loudly and shaking their heads in apparent exasperation the sisters went back to their own home next door. Putting the kettle on Ida could hear the booming of an electronic bass vibrating through the wall as the strains of the Ibiza selection echoed through their house and she sighed loudly, the country was certainly going downhill when that rubbish was considered popular music.

Ada had arranged the lacy coasters on the table and Ida made sure the cups were square on them before she started pouring from the pot, then she looked at her twin sister and smiled.

“How long shall we give him before we start?” she asked

Ada smiled back, her dentures slipping slightly.

“We’ll do it now, it’ll give our tea time to cool. Have you got everything prepared?”

Ida just nodded and Ada got to her feet gingerly, that hip was still giving her trouble. Ida was already halfway up the stairs and heading towards the spare bedroom when the music from next door suddenly stopped and they looked at one another; the dismayed expression on Ida’s face a mirror image of her sisters.

“Bother it,” exclaimed Ada; “I’m out of my chair now as well.”

Then her disgruntled look changed to a plastic toothed smile as what was obviously a new disk of the same old dance rubbish was inserted and played at even greater volume.

“Shall we?” she nodded towards the room again.

“Oh yes” replied Ida chuckling.

The clinking of chains as they entered the room couldn’t be heard over the thump thump from next door as the man at the end of the room struggled to his feet to greet their arrival.

“Now then Winston,” said Ida, brandishing a tazer gun, “I think you need to learn just who’s running this estate.”

“Indeed,” agreed her sister as she entered the room having finally conquered the stairs, “no one muscles in on our patch and gets away with it.”

As Winston hit the floor, his screams drowned out by ‘Ibiza 99-the midlife crisis mix’ and twenty thousand volts running through his body, Ada stepped forward and finished the job with the cut throat razor she’d inherited from her father. Then turning to her sister she pointed at the window.

“Ida, do you think this room needs redecorating? I’d be mortified if the residents association saw these curtains.”