Ash Can
by Alasdair McPherson
Genre: Crime/Mystery
Swearwords: None.
Description: When one’s career goes up in smoke.
Swearwords: None.
Description: When one’s career goes up in smoke.
I can’t argue that it was against the rules for Bobbie McGuire to smoke on duty but he didn’t deserve to be canned for the offence, at least, not in my opinion. I’d have given him a medal but I’ll tell you the whole story and you can decide for yourselves.
It begins really with that helicopter crash when they were taking a patient to hospital and it just suddenly blew up. They ruled out mechanical failure and pilot error but they didn’t have a clue about the cause. They suspected that a rescue flare had exploded but they were all accounted for.
The patient had been picked up from the beach more dead than alive, if you remember. He was half drowned and suffering from hypothermia but the Coastguard helicopter was close by and there was a good chance that the guy would make it.
The gig that Bobbie attended was quite similar except that this time the guy had snuffed it before they arrived. The body was washing about in ankle deep water when Bobbie arrived with Mary. The police were there but it was a bitterly cold morning so they had retired to the police car.
After they moved the corpse into the ambulance, Mary went off along the beach looking for any clues to the guy’s identity while Bobbie made himself comfortable on the back step of the ambulance and rolled himself a joint. Mary doesn’t approve of any kind of smoking but she’s red hot on weed.
It was mostly tobacco with just a blade or two of grass more to give it flavour than to give him a hit. I use the same sort of mixture myself to slow my heart rate and steady my hand before minor operations. I have to admit that I still use a line of coke before I do major surgical procedures.
Anyway, there’s Bobbie chilling on the back step of the ambulance when there’s a flash behind his head and he looks round to find the patient’s feet are on fire! Quick as a flash, Bobbie dragged the corpse onto the grass (throwing his own grass away in his hurry) and puts out the wee blaze that had started on the stretcher.
Turned out that the corpse’s boots were soled and heeled with white phosphorous! While it was wet it was quite safe but as soon as it dried out, woosh! It didn’t take long for the fire chief to deduce that the guy in the Coastguard helicopter probably had the same unusual taste in footwear. It’s the latest gear for suicide bombers, apparently. Bobbie not only saved the ambulance but he provided the solution to one of the great aviation mysteries.
Even Mary admitted that things would have been dire if Bobby had been a non-smoker and had been dozing in the front of the vehicle when the corpse dried out. That didn’t stop her reporting him for smoking on duty but Bobby didn’t hold a grudge since it’s just her nature, as he said.
He thought it would be another suspension but they decided to give him the elbow more to prove to the regional manager how efficient they are. Considering all the good that had come of his smoke, he went into the tribunal confident that they would agree that he had been wrongfully dismissed and should be reinstated.
I think he’d have got away with it but for the whacky-baccy. The chairman’s son, it transpired, had been badly injured by marijuana. It wasn’t even him that smoked it. His girlfriend had a couple of joints and decided she could fly. He made the mistake of trying to talk her out of it standing in the street underneath the second floor window she was standing at. She weighs about fifteen stone and she landed squarely on his chest – there’s a good chance he’ll eventually get out the wheelchair.
Anyway, Bobbie got his cards and I’m getting up a wee petition to get him reinstated. I deeply resent the story that’s going around, by the way, that I’m doing it because he gives surgeons like me a thirty per cent discount on the grass he supplies. That would be unprofessional.
It begins really with that helicopter crash when they were taking a patient to hospital and it just suddenly blew up. They ruled out mechanical failure and pilot error but they didn’t have a clue about the cause. They suspected that a rescue flare had exploded but they were all accounted for.
The patient had been picked up from the beach more dead than alive, if you remember. He was half drowned and suffering from hypothermia but the Coastguard helicopter was close by and there was a good chance that the guy would make it.
The gig that Bobbie attended was quite similar except that this time the guy had snuffed it before they arrived. The body was washing about in ankle deep water when Bobbie arrived with Mary. The police were there but it was a bitterly cold morning so they had retired to the police car.
After they moved the corpse into the ambulance, Mary went off along the beach looking for any clues to the guy’s identity while Bobbie made himself comfortable on the back step of the ambulance and rolled himself a joint. Mary doesn’t approve of any kind of smoking but she’s red hot on weed.
It was mostly tobacco with just a blade or two of grass more to give it flavour than to give him a hit. I use the same sort of mixture myself to slow my heart rate and steady my hand before minor operations. I have to admit that I still use a line of coke before I do major surgical procedures.
Anyway, there’s Bobbie chilling on the back step of the ambulance when there’s a flash behind his head and he looks round to find the patient’s feet are on fire! Quick as a flash, Bobbie dragged the corpse onto the grass (throwing his own grass away in his hurry) and puts out the wee blaze that had started on the stretcher.
Turned out that the corpse’s boots were soled and heeled with white phosphorous! While it was wet it was quite safe but as soon as it dried out, woosh! It didn’t take long for the fire chief to deduce that the guy in the Coastguard helicopter probably had the same unusual taste in footwear. It’s the latest gear for suicide bombers, apparently. Bobbie not only saved the ambulance but he provided the solution to one of the great aviation mysteries.
Even Mary admitted that things would have been dire if Bobby had been a non-smoker and had been dozing in the front of the vehicle when the corpse dried out. That didn’t stop her reporting him for smoking on duty but Bobby didn’t hold a grudge since it’s just her nature, as he said.
He thought it would be another suspension but they decided to give him the elbow more to prove to the regional manager how efficient they are. Considering all the good that had come of his smoke, he went into the tribunal confident that they would agree that he had been wrongfully dismissed and should be reinstated.
I think he’d have got away with it but for the whacky-baccy. The chairman’s son, it transpired, had been badly injured by marijuana. It wasn’t even him that smoked it. His girlfriend had a couple of joints and decided she could fly. He made the mistake of trying to talk her out of it standing in the street underneath the second floor window she was standing at. She weighs about fifteen stone and she landed squarely on his chest – there’s a good chance he’ll eventually get out the wheelchair.
Anyway, Bobbie got his cards and I’m getting up a wee petition to get him reinstated. I deeply resent the story that’s going around, by the way, that I’m doing it because he gives surgeons like me a thirty per cent discount on the grass he supplies. That would be unprofessional.
About the Author
Originally from Dalmuir, Alasdair McPherson is now retired and living in exile in Lincolnshire.
He says he has always wanted to write, but life got in the way until recently. He has already penned thirteen novels and many short stories. His ten latest novels – The Island, Pilgrimage of Grace, Desert Ark, Swordsmiths, Loyalty, Killing Cousins, Damaged Lives, Patriotism, The Hobos' Union and Getting GOVAN out of the GIRLS – are all McStorytellers publications.
You can read Alasdair's full profile on McVoices.
He says he has always wanted to write, but life got in the way until recently. He has already penned thirteen novels and many short stories. His ten latest novels – The Island, Pilgrimage of Grace, Desert Ark, Swordsmiths, Loyalty, Killing Cousins, Damaged Lives, Patriotism, The Hobos' Union and Getting GOVAN out of the GIRLS – are all McStorytellers publications.
You can read Alasdair's full profile on McVoices.