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“’Ere, ya can’t do that!” an exasperated Doyle told his currently amused but soon to be suffering partner. “Now get ya great big hoof outta my face.”
Anson, declining to join in, directed a puff of exhaled smoke into the small window opening in the VIP lounge, only for the brisk and chilled wind of a wet December day to bring it straight back in again.
“Now, now, D’Oyly Carte, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. So start singing a different tune, why dontcha.”
Next minute Murphy’s hand was placed over Doyle’s back and snuggled in close to his side. This wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t also attached to Murphy who was now resting precariously on Doyle’s back for support.
“Did ya have to pick that one, Murph? There’s a perfectly good place for ya mitt over there.” Doyle indicated a spot to his right by raising his head and instantly knocked it against Murphy’s, causing Murphy's lower lip to swell where it had clashed between his teeth and Doyle's skull.
Feeling crowded and a little ganged up on, Doyle’s paranoia decided that two could play at this game. He placed his left leg between Bodie’s. His knee only a few scant inches away from his partner’s crown jewels. “Be careful what you do next, mate. I’d hate to see you singing the Christmas carols as a soprano.”
Bodie took a look and saw that his groin was indeed in a precarious position. “How’d you manage that, then?”
‘I’m extremely limber, don’t ya know.” a boastful Doyle told his partner and Murphy who was now sagging from the strain and was leaning more on Doyle as time went on.
“No, no, don’t even think about it, Jax. You go there, mate, and it’s game over.” Murphy said over the top of Doyle’s head trying not to get the wild mop of curly hair into his mouth.
Jax decided that it wasn’t worth the aggro from his fellow colleagues and quickly withdrew his arm before resettling it in a place everyone seemed happy with.
“Stop interfering Murph,” Susie called out from the sidelines. "I’ve got two quid riding on Jax to win.”
Anson took a long drag from his dying ciggie and seeing the red ember come up to the filter, tossed it out the window. Closing the stuttering window, whose frame had swollen in the wet weather, he blew out a lungful of smoke causing Pennington to cough and throw him a scornful look. Undeterred Anson had no sooner got comfortable with his back against the wall, when all the players collapsed in a heap with several ‘ow’s’ and ‘move yourselves’ uttered in pained voices.
Jax was the first up. Murphy was next as he pushed on Doyle’s back and extricated himself with not too much bother. Doyle now free from a thirteen stone Murph rolled partially onto his side. His bid for freedom hampered by his leg caught under Bodie. His leg was twisted to the side and pain flared in his knee.
Bodie was curled into a fetal position and clutching his privates. “Don’t even think about it, Doyle. Just hold still a minute.” Bodie gasped out between clenched teeth. “Your fuckin’ bony knee got me right in the goolies. Give me a minute. Doyle, stop fucking moving! For God’s sake! Aargh!” Bodie gasped as Doyle went to pull his leg out from under Bodie yet again.
“Get off me, Bodie. My knees twisted and it hurts.”
Jax bent down and moved Bodie backwards at the same time as Murph dragged Doyle way from the carnage of Bodie’s groin.
Bodie stayed curled into himself while Doyle rolled onto his side clutching his knee.
It was into this scene that the head of CI-5, Mr. Cowley, walked in with a file in his hand.
“What the devil is going on here? Someone enlighten me, now!”
“Um, well, you see Sir, we were, um, playing Twister. Jax got it for his kids for Christmas and we, um, thought in the interests of quality control we should check it out. Make sure it was appropriate for his kids to use.” Pennington told his boss as he put the spinner down on the coffee table that had been pushed to the side making room for the plastic sheet in the middle of the room. The plastic sheet that now had two tough CI-5 men still laying prostrate on it clutching different parts of their anatomy.
“Bodie! Doyle! What’s the matter with you two? Have ye been hurt by a child’s game? I surely hope for both yer sakes that’s not the case, otherwise I see a stint with Macklin in the New Year for you both. Can ye stand?”
Bodie gingerly got onto his knees and then grimacing slowly stood in a hunched position, not able to look his boss in the eye. Meanwhile Doyle collapsed back onto the floor as soon as he put weight on his bad knee which buckled as he tried to stand.
“Good God, man. Get both of you to the infirmary to get checked out. I canna believe this. A child’s game, you say! Of all the stupid, inane stunts you've pulled, this takes the cake. I’d nev’r believe it if I didna see it for myself.” Cowley left muttering to himself all the way back to his office about if the criminals were to hear of this they'd all be carrying games of twister instead of guns and leaving them out for his agents to hurt themselves on. His purpose for going to the lounge and the file under his arm, quite forgotten.
Later that evening back at Doyle’s flat two CI-5 agents were musing over the turn of events. Bodie held a bag of frozen peas to his groin, while Doyle hobbled with one crutch under his arm while trying to carry two beer cans in the other. He dropped one and watched it roll under the coffee table. He made it over to Bodie and gave him the one he hadn’t managed to drop and then went back and got a fresh can out of the fridge for himself. He'll pick up the other can later.
With a sigh he sat down next to his partner and gingerly lifted his leg onto the coffee table and leaned back into the couch.
“Cheers, mate.” Doyle pulled his beer tab and raised his can over to his mate in a toast before bringing the can to his lips and drinking deeply.
“Don’t know what got the Cow all twisted. Wasn’t as if we set out to get hurt and all. It’s not as if the ol’ man lost our services, or anything. Your full duty as per normal and I’m on light duties manning the phones for the next week while my sprained knee heals. Slight change of the ol’ roster and everything’s all hunky-dory again. Do you think he was serious abou’ Macklin? That man’s a sadist.” A small shiver ran down Doyle's spine at the thought.
“Well, if he is, we could always give Cowley, Macklin and Towser a Christmas pressie.”
“Yeah, like what?” a confused Doyle asked Bodie.
“Twister.”
The End