MINDS ON SOMETHING ELSE

Synopsis:
This story was conceived at a rather strange moment. I was cleaning things off the piano near the computer. One object was a book of mine on psychics, open at the page showing a psychic crime detective, famous for abusing his partner for arriving late to a meeting because he was 'occupied' with his girlfriend. The detective could describe every saucy detail of his embarassed companions morning to a small crowd of policemen. This was the main influence. Imagine a police force made up of psychics! This thought, along with some jokes taken off the Internet and a pack of playing cards (amongst other junk), drove me to start typing. As the computer booted up, I pulled an eyelash with my left hand, thinking about what to write. Idiosyncrasies were born. The whole piece is simply an entertaining work for those interested in a laugh, psychic crime detection or Kimberley Davies.


MINDS ON SOMETHING ELSE
Thomas was thinking about committing a crime, which was something out of the ordinary. He usually spent his time thinking about Kimberley Davies, whipped cream, cashew nuts and a red, ride-on lawn-mower. Tonight, however, he had gathered his two friends Maxwell and Dick (Dick's name was originally Bob, but he changed it to prevent people picking on him) to discuss the crime of the decade. They were going to rob the biggest bank in town, "Fish's Rectum Trust", dressed as police officers. When the cops came, it would be no trouble at all blending right in. Maxwell worked in a bakery as well, which was an additional bonus, as he would be able to supply the donuts necessary to complete their brilliant facade. All they needed to discuss was the how, when and for what.

Thomas had his nose three inches from the blueprints spread on the table before them, showing the layout of the bank, and was scratching the back of his head, deep in thought. Dick was also deep in thought, but his brain had a habit of going off at a tangent, and thinking about the most inane topics at the wrong times.

"Fellas", he said, pulling at an eyelash with his left hand, "we want everything, right, because we're power-hungry. We're megalomaniacs; criminal geniuses; but let me ask you this. Once we had everything...where would we put it?". His brow became furrowed and he stared at his companions. "I mean, you've got everything, but where do you store it? Why not leave the world as it is? I mean, we know that it's all ours anyway. If we wanted to prove it, all we would have to do is walk around with a label-maker, and a heck of a lot of plastic strips."

The other two ignored him. They realised that Dick had a habit of speaking as thoughts came to him. It was his way. They only let him go about his business, for they know that part of him, somewhere in his subconscious mind, was actually focused on the task at hand.

"There are two entrances", began Thomas, indicating them both. "One is the main entrance, the other is the employee entrance at the side. The employee entrance is opened with a key that each worker has, and they all arrive between 8:15 to 8:45 am, and leave between 4:45 and 5:30 pm. I say our best chance is approach them in the afternoon as they exit. Need only be one of them, and that individual will then be violently persuaded to open the door for us, and walk in. We then take the day's spoils from the tellers before it's loaded in to the safe at 5:20 pm. No rush, because as soon as someone realises whats happening and presses the alarm, we'll be ready to slip out and join the police as they arrive. Pretending to have just come in through the other exit, we hold up the bags to signify that we've 'recovered' the stolen loot, and point out that the criminals are still inside, dressed as bank tellers. It's absolutely brilliant".

Maxwell was scraping some custard from his chin and between mouthfuls of tart voiced his agreement. Dick was thinking again. "Fellas, Fellas, do you think we could drive a dog insane by giving it contact lenses with images of cats on them? Or maybe we could name a dog 'Sit' and see if we could drive it mad simply by calling it". Thomas looked straight at Dick for a second, frowned, and then went back to his blueprints, scratching the back of his head. Maxwell had now acquired a chocolate eclair, and was also absorbed in something other than the three intruders who had just sneaked in the door.

"Fellas", Dick was really concentrating on the plan now, "I've got a girlfriend coming around tomorrow night. She's a nymphomaniac obsessed with Italians and royalty, so while she's at my place, I want you to leave messages on my answering machine referring to me as Sir. Georgio. I'd appreciate it". He then reached over and wiped up a drop of cream from Maxwell's chocolate eclair which had landed on the blueprint. It was about this time that the muzzle of a gun was pressed in to his cheek.

"Don't move. Small Hill Police Department, Psychic Crime Division. You guys will be under arrest" said the wielder of the gun, a tall, brown-haired man wearing a trenchcoat. Two other men covered the other criminals in a similar fashion.

"How did you.....?" started Thomas.

"Simple. Allow me to introduce Sgt. Bentley, a clairvoyant...", the man pushing a large gun into Maxwell's wobbling cheeks nodded his head, "...and Detective Roberts, a telepathic". The gun in Thomas' cheek moved slightly as if to signify that it was willing to go off any second.

Across the table, the top of the chocolate eclair slid off and landed on Maxwell's pants.

"We've been after you guys for a couple of weeks now" said the only vocal member of these law enforcers, who had failed to introduce himself. "You see, Sgt. Bentley received a vision of your crime in progress tomorrow, and using that information, went through records of past offences looking for a photo of one face he recognised. That would be you Thomas Jefferson. You've been arrested before for harassing Kimberley Davies, sending her perverse letters and photographs".

Now the cream slid down Maxwell's hand and dropped off onto the side entrance shown on the "Fish's Rectum Trust" blueprints. The guns didn't moved an inch as the dairy product fell.

"We've been staying at the hotel on the next block ever since. Fine food there. I recommend the Mexican food, not too spicy but with just enough of that delightful flavour the Mexicans are famous for. Anyway, an hour ago Detective Roberts received your thoughts and we went into action. We arrived here just in time to get word of your plans, neatly summarised thanks to Thomas". The un-named officer retrieved a small micro-recorder from his trenchcoat pocket with his free hand, then dropped it back in after the criminals had seen it. Suddenly, gunfire rang out and three bodies dropped to the floor.

Dick spoke again, "Fellas, have you ever wondered what would have happened if we hadn't seen that spiritualist lady yesterday? We wouldn't have been warned of what was going to happen tonight, and we wouldn't have hired Mario to kill those cops when they came in!". Mario, a big, ugly man with a crew cut, steeped out from the bathroom giving his automatic weapon a polish.

Maxwell retrieved the top of his eclair and started scraping the cream off the table and the blueprints, back onto the base. Thomas wiped some blood from his jacket and wondered what Kimberley Davies was doing tomorrow night.

Dick fished out a pack of cards from his pocket and cut the deck in half on the table in front of him, ignorant of Mario's attempts to clean up the bodies which littered the floor. He looked at the top card in his hand. It was the joker.

"Fellas", he begins, "what would happen if the practises of acupuncture and voodoo were to collide? You could ring up someone, give them a list of general characteristics about your appearance and your ailment, they would then make up a doll based on that information and cure your pains from afar. You could be walking along the street and suddenly the stabbing pain in your back, which has been with you for twenty years, is gone!".

The others ignored him and went about their business. Their minds were on something else.

And deep within her crystal ball, The Musings of Dan formed from the mists...
or
"...All hope abandon, ye who enter The Lair of Dan"