Sentence The Onehundredandfortyfifth
Martin Elginbrod crumpled the note into a ball and hurled it away from him; he looked again at the envelope – no stamp, no postmark - his name and the Chambers address printed in block capitals gave no clue as to where it had come from nor who had sent it; he had no time for this – neither for chauvinistic wantokism, nor sycophantic proteanism, however entertaining it might be during The Festival – he was a man of Business, of Action, with one driving purpose; furiously he banged his hand on the bell and, moments later, his Chief Clerk Riddle Rankine entered – Elginbrod held up the envelope: “who put this in,” he demanded; Rankine was unperturbed, “Zinny lifted the mail, sir,” he replied, “anything not obviously business she put through here. As per”; it was normal procedure in the Chambers, for occasionally Elginbrod received personal mail here and he had issued strict instructions to his Clerks - he would rather find something irrelevant on his desk than have his underlings open what he would prefer them not to see and engaging in their conspiratorial gossip – anyone he found doing that would be out on their ear without a testimonial from him, and he'd even spread enough disinformation about them to screw their chances of another post above shit-shovelling at the abattoir; so, dismissing his Clerk, he retrieved the note and flattened it out on his blotter, and as he did so, noticed the faint writing on the reverse, realised that this might be a clue to it's origin, with the message to himself being written on the reverse of the original note – if he could identify the sender of that he would be half-way to the recipient who was the second sender and he wondered about this 'Miss Teri' who was unable to dine, probably some sad spinster with gluten, dairy and nut allergies, who disapproved of drink, and smoking indoors or scampering skyclad on beaches and hilltops - women like that should be put in the stocks and available to every red-blooded man to shag, he'd lay odds-on that, though the feminist whores might cavil at the idea, they and all their Lesbo chums would secretly delight in being used so, for he truly believed that no woman, whatever her protestations, did not enjoy being fucked, gently or forcibly, it made no difference, all they really wanted was a hard cock inside them; he used his mobile for the call and soon heard the
gruff voice and before it had finished barked out: “I'm waiting – you know I don't like to wait,” and he felt the cringing at the other end – good, he thought, when you cringe you don't dare to disobey, and wondered, not for the first time, how such a pathetic, grovelling creature could have risen so high, but reflected that he probably treated his own staff as Elginbrod treated him and was like as not perceived as an Alpha Male; “no word from the Hospital, I've got a nurse hooked and I'll get something out of her,” and Elginbrod smiled to himself, revelling in the contempt he felt for all women, lesser beings intrinsically inferior to him, “if she has anything, bring her to me, in her uniform, I've got a soft spot for nurses – well, a Hard One actually, oh and there is another little task for you – no argy-bargy and quick as you can,” and he passed on such information as he had, but was quite dismissive of The Man's suggestion that the name Teri, might be a reference to someone from Hawick and he hung up, wondering, despite himself, whether The Man might be right, he was a Detective after all and despite his many failings, he could still have a life-long detective's nose for these things; and then he remembered about the Nurse – now that would be a sweet little bonus for him; a dedicated lovelace, he always enjoyed these unexpected pleasures, having a woman he'd never set eyes on and taking whatever he wanted from her, particularly her self-respect; he knew The Man would do what it took to get the information, although he didn't know yet if it would help him find his two missing toys; ok, so much for that, he rang for Rankine again: “what's our schedule for today,” it was time to expend some of his prodigious energy in his true vocation and make money!
Martin Elginbrod crumpled the note into a ball and hurled it away from him; he looked again at the envelope – no stamp, no postmark - his name and the Chambers address printed in block capitals gave no clue as to where it had come from nor who had sent it; he had no time for this – neither for chauvinistic wantokism, nor sycophantic proteanism, however entertaining it might be during The Festival – he was a man of Business, of Action, with one driving purpose; furiously he banged his hand on the bell and, moments later, his Chief Clerk Riddle Rankine entered – Elginbrod held up the envelope: “who put this in,” he demanded; Rankine was unperturbed, “Zinny lifted the mail, sir,” he replied, “anything not obviously business she put through here. As per”; it was normal procedure in the Chambers, for occasionally Elginbrod received personal mail here and he had issued strict instructions to his Clerks - he would rather find something irrelevant on his desk than have his underlings open what he would prefer them not to see and engaging in their conspiratorial gossip – anyone he found doing that would be out on their ear without a testimonial from him, and he'd even spread enough disinformation about them to screw their chances of another post above shit-shovelling at the abattoir; so, dismissing his Clerk, he retrieved the note and flattened it out on his blotter, and as he did so, noticed the faint writing on the reverse, realised that this might be a clue to it's origin, with the message to himself being written on the reverse of the original note – if he could identify the sender of that he would be half-way to the recipient who was the second sender and he wondered about this 'Miss Teri' who was unable to dine, probably some sad spinster with gluten, dairy and nut allergies, who disapproved of drink, and smoking indoors or scampering skyclad on beaches and hilltops - women like that should be put in the stocks and available to every red-blooded man to shag, he'd lay odds-on that, though the feminist whores might cavil at the idea, they and all their Lesbo chums would secretly delight in being used so, for he truly believed that no woman, whatever her protestations, did not enjoy being fucked, gently or forcibly, it made no difference, all they really wanted was a hard cock inside them; he used his mobile for the call and soon heard the
gruff voice and before it had finished barked out: “I'm waiting – you know I don't like to wait,” and he felt the cringing at the other end – good, he thought, when you cringe you don't dare to disobey, and wondered, not for the first time, how such a pathetic, grovelling creature could have risen so high, but reflected that he probably treated his own staff as Elginbrod treated him and was like as not perceived as an Alpha Male; “no word from the Hospital, I've got a nurse hooked and I'll get something out of her,” and Elginbrod smiled to himself, revelling in the contempt he felt for all women, lesser beings intrinsically inferior to him, “if she has anything, bring her to me, in her uniform, I've got a soft spot for nurses – well, a Hard One actually, oh and there is another little task for you – no argy-bargy and quick as you can,” and he passed on such information as he had, but was quite dismissive of The Man's suggestion that the name Teri, might be a reference to someone from Hawick and he hung up, wondering, despite himself, whether The Man might be right, he was a Detective after all and despite his many failings, he could still have a life-long detective's nose for these things; and then he remembered about the Nurse – now that would be a sweet little bonus for him; a dedicated lovelace, he always enjoyed these unexpected pleasures, having a woman he'd never set eyes on and taking whatever he wanted from her, particularly her self-respect; he knew The Man would do what it took to get the information, although he didn't know yet if it would help him find his two missing toys; ok, so much for that, he rang for Rankine again: “what's our schedule for today,” it was time to expend some of his prodigious energy in his true vocation and make money!
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