A STUDY

Richard (of RBB)'s office looked like a senior executives penthouse office - that is if senior executives offices had: an old school desk supporting a broken computer and a recently bought bargain lap-top; a home made bookcase that sagged ominously in the middle; half-empty coffee cups dotted about on various surfaces; and discarded underpants that had seen better days.

This was the hub of Richard (of RBB)'s existence, a place of creativity, nostalgia, enterprise and, when no-one else was about, a little surreptitious internet searching. Lights came on in his den early on weekdays - between 5.30AM and 6 AM when the computer was fired up and the first blog posts of the day were banged out quickly and unthinkingly like Donald Trump's tweets while the kettle boiled for the first of the day's Nescafe coffee drinks. Weekends gave the den a bit of a respite with the blog posting, internet searching and email writing happening at a more gentlemanly time of between 8 AM and 9.30 AM.


But a change was looming. Retirement.

This meant that the den-like study would be under huge pressure. Along with the likelihood that Richard (of RBB) would still, at least for a while, rise early and snuggle his bum into the familiar seat at the desk and churn out his missives there was the certainty that this wouldn't cease at 7AM when he previously would leave for work. From August onwards there would be no work to go to.

The overladen and ominously sagging bookcase could almost be heard to groan in trepidation. How many more half-empty coffee cups (or underpants) could the flimsy structure endure before the inevitable collapse.

Entropy!

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Still, that was weeks away yet so let's look on the bright side eh?

IT WAS COLD AND WET AT THE BUS TERMINAL

It was cold and wet at the bus terminal. Humbert huddled into his Timber-line jacket,the one he bought at the convenience store in Minnesota the last time he'd completely changed his outfit. "Was it really only five days ago" he thought "it seems longer".

"So where is that bloody Richard" he wondered as he looked around at the derelict terminal with buses that looked like they hadn't been anywhere for decades. "Anyone would think he was hiding from me" he mused.

Five days ago he'd decided to make the trip on having learned that Richard (of RBB and other aliases) had done it again. The unmentionable. Humbert had contacted The Curmudgeon to tell him of his visit. The Curmudgeon hadn't seemed that interested  he now thought and only seemed interested, pruriently, of Trixie's whereabouts.
He'd also contacted Richard and arranged to be collected from the bus station. "It's a really nice one" Richard had said "the best one. Really tremendous. Busy as."

Humbert had picked up on the vocal clues that Richard had given away in their brief conversation. He had stuttered. Humbert remembered that Richard stuttered when under duress or if he had a guilty conscience. He had also wheezed, Now normally that might not mean much as he probably wheezed from the effort of going from his computer to the bathroom but, combined with the stutter this meant trouble. Big trouble.

Richard had also seemed evasive when Humbert told him of his pending visit. He had mumbled that everything was OK 'Feeling Groovy' he had actually said which put Humbert's hackles up. He knew that Richard didn't like Paul Simon music, there being no double bass or fiddle in it and besides, it had singing. Richard didn't like singing.

Humbert huddled down further into his jacket. He wished Trixie was here. Trixie had a nice feather-lined jacket with a hood. He could steal that from her.

WHERE'S HUMBERT?

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.

Richard (of RBB):................. Hello?

The Curmudgeon: Richard?

Richard (of RBB): Yes....er I mean no......

The Curmudgeon: What the fuck? What took you so long to answer the phone?

Richard (of RBB): I was in the ...

The Curmudgeon:....toilet?

Richard (of RBB): Toilet? No the ....er wardrobe.

The Curmudgeon: What! Why?

Richard (of RBB): Umm .... it's a long story and my name isn't Richard (of RBB) anymore.

The Curmudgeon: What! Why not? What is it now?

Richard (of RBB): It's Rich. Rich Ardprowse.

The Curmudgeon: Ardprowse! What the hell for?

Richard (of RBB): Well I tried Ric Hardprowse but it made me sound like some kind of porn star.

The Curmudgeon: Ric Hardprowse? Porn star? You? Look what's going on?

Richard (of RBB): Well, you know that guy from America?

The Curmudgeon: Donald Trump?

Richard (of RBB): No, no not Trump ......that guy Humbert.

The Curmudgeon: Yes, I know Humbert. That's why I..........

Richard (of RBB): That guy Humbert is on his way over here and he.......

The Curmudgeon: Yes, yes, I know, that's why I'm ringing. I haven't heard from him for a couple of                                    days. He should have been here by now. Do you know what's happened to him?

Richard (of RBB): Me? N-n-n no. No, I don't know....

The Curmudgeon: Listen, what have you been up to. You sound shifty. You sound even more shifty
                               than usual.

Richard (of RBB): I just don't want to see him OK?

The Curmudgeon: Look, if he shows up at your place get him to give me a call. I'll try Robert's place                               now.

Richard (of RBB): Robert! No, no need to involve Robert (he he he) Er, I mean, he's busy. Best to                                      leave him out of it eh?

The Curmudgeon: Mmmm. Strange. I'll see you later and hey, you should come out of the closet .....                                  sorry that didn't sound right but you know what I mean.

'Click'