Showing posts with label Whitney Crocker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whitney Crocker. Show all posts

Friday, 25 June 2021

CHAPTER 111: A Question Of Hemlines

 


"Tsch, shocking!  Disgraceful!  Scandalous!" George Sneedley tutted to himself as he looked on at the mannequins in JF&S Clothiers; a haute boutique for the well dressed and well off.  He was on an early morning walk through Magnolia Promenade as that was his way of getting exercise without having to run or lift things.

The fashions of the day appalled him with their revealing neck and hemlines.  Grown women were now dressing like naughty schoolgirls and this led to a generation of long haired, randy young men chasing them.  The wedding dress he was looking at was particularly in bad taste...too snug fitting around the shoulders and bosom and way, way too far above the knee.  He thought of his own wedding to Edna and how wonderful she had looked in her grandmother's bridal gown...ah, the Edwardian era, thought George: How more elegant were things then?  Of course, they had to rush their own wedding arrangements because it was 1950 and he was just about to be shipped off to Korea and the war.

George left the boutique and headed home where Edna was already up and watching the news.  It was about another war, Vietnam, where the story was that USAF planes had clashed with North Vietnamese jets for the very first time since the American involvement in the conflict began.


"I didn't know the North Vietnamese had jet fighters" said Edna to George.

"They'll have got them from the Chinese or Soviets, dear" he replied.  "Same with back in my day...the North Koreans relied on the Chinese"

"Anyway...how did you walk go this morning?" she asked.

"Mostly fine" he replied.  "It's a nice day, the waterfront was pleasant and I think I spotted a heron at one point.  However, what is being sold in the shops under the description 'fashion' is shocking"

"I know...I know...you can really see standards dropping over the last year.  This is what happens when there are no longer decent female role models for young women to look up to...they've traded in Jackie for something called 'Twiggy'.  Oh if only we could have our delightful former first lady back as the inspiration for the younger generation."

"I quite agree, Edna, Mrs Kennedy and....Marilyn Monroe" he said, wistfully.

"Well, I never quite got the appeal of Marilyn Monroe myself" said Edna, knowing that Marilyn was George's pin-up idol when he was in the Navy.  "But a Grace Kelly...or Princess Grace to give her the correct title...there was a lady!"


"Ooh, yes" said George enthusiastically.

Edna stood up all of a sudden.  "I have an idea!" she exclaimed.  "I propose that you and I go and visit one of these so-called 'fashion boutiques' and investigate how they are corrupting womanhood!"

"When shall we do this?" asked George.

"Now!"


The two of them travelled to Magnolia Promenade where they found all the different fashion boutiques.  The place was getting a reputation of being "The Carnaby Street of Sim City" and was a fertile ground for the Sneedley's moral indignation.  One particular establishment caught their attention:  It was converted from a much older building but had big, newly installed glass windows, neon signs and bold colours decorating it.  It was called "Pack's Clothing" and it seemed like it was purposely built to annoy them.

"It looks positively garish!" said Edna "and what's the appalling smell coming from it?"

"If my culinary senses do not deceive me" said George "I believe it's a combination of incense, peppermint and....I think that's thyme"

"Anyway...let us gird ourselves and carry out our task.  George, no looking at anything too racy; we don't want you to have one of your turns"

Edna and George took deep breaths and entered the shop....and they didn't like what they saw right from the off.  For starters, there was discordant music playing over a speaker which made Edna wince.




"Tsch, most unsuitable!" said Edna looking at a couple of mannequins.  Even their poses offended her...no grace or poise, just blatant provocativeness and lewd playfulness.

She moved on to view a poster of a man with shaggy, unkempt hair, playing a guitar with a tortured look on his face.  The caption read "JEFF BECK".


"Ugh, just the sort of young man my mother warned me about!" she said.

George came and sat down next to her.  "I had to sit down and take a rest...it's so horrible in here!  The men's section is just as bad...medallions and strange patterns" he said.


"Well that's one thing I'll give this establishment" said Edna.  "At least there's plenty of places to sit"

"Excuse me, Madam, Sir...can I be of assistance?" said a young shop assistant.  He struck the Sneedleys as somewhat odd looking:  He was a black man with very dark skin and yet had a mop of golden blonde hair.  

"No thank you" said Edna curtly as she stared at the man's hair.

"Ah you've noticed my hair" said the shop assistant.  "New in stock:  Deluxe Merseybeat wigs.  Ideal for young men who want to look like The Beatles but whose hair is too curly, short or straggly to have cut into the classic Beatle cut.  Also great for the older gentleman who's hairline is receding and might want the extra coverage" he said, looking at George's head.


"Made from realistic nylon, they come in 20 different shades: This one is called Golden Dawn" continued the man.

"No thank you" replied Edna.  "Although that is probably the least objectionable thing I have seen in here so far" 

The man went off to help another customer and Edna took a moment to survey the scene.  "George" she said, an idea formulating in her head "I think we should conduct some interviews with some of the customers; find out what they think"

"I agree; we should make ourselves seem more official...say we're doing important market research" George replied.

"Agreed...I will speak with that lady in the blue over there...George that young woman in the turquoise; you should have a word with her"

Edna walked over to a young lady who was dressed all in dark blue.  She was checking out a short dress in a peppermint colour when Edna introduced herself.

"Hello...My name is Mrs Edna Sneedley and I am conducting some market research on behalf of an important organisation whose name I am not at liberty to mention.  May I ask you a few questions about your preferences in ladies fashion?"


"Hi...my name is Bianca, I'm 24 and work in an office" replied the young woman.

"How nice...I see you have opted for the shorter hemline:  Is that something that appeals to you?"

"Yeah, it's fab!  It's kicky!" said Bianca.

"Hmmm, 'kicky', I'm afraid I'm not well versed in the slang of the youth of today.  But don't you feel that your shorter hemlines will attract the attention of the wrong sort of man?"

"I'm not against attracting the attention of a man...providing he's cute" said Bianca.  "But it's about freedom, confidence and the Pill"

"THE PILL!" exclaimed Edna, shocked.  If there was anything she hated more than mini skirts, it was the Pill.  "Young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself!"


At that Bianca became very indignant.  Meanwhile, George was trying a slightly different approach.

"Excuse me, Miss" he said to a willowy auburn haired young woman who wore a turquoise mini dress.  "I am conducting a survey on fashion and the younger generation.  Do you prefer the long or the shorter skirt?"


"Well, man, it's all good, right?" she replied.  "Long, short as long as it's with it I'm cool with all that.  My favourite clothes are my flared jeans, baby"

George didn't catch on with the slang but proceeded to enquire more.  "And are you wearing stockings today or....tights?" he said, wincing at the T word.  

"These?  These are tights, man.  I've given up on all the constricting underwear that mom and grandma wore:  I got rid of garters, corsets, girdles and I've read the bra is a symbol of the past so I might end up throwing that in the trash can or burning it"

"Oh...dear..." said George, who acted as if he had walked into a minefield.

"Yeah man, I mean, why do we need clothes anyway?  Underwear, who cares?  Some days I don't bother at all with them.  You've got to feel free, baby, unconstricted and let it all hang out.  Have you tried spending the day in the nude?  Wow, that's like being at one with nature!  Mister, are you alright?  Mister?"

George had gone pale and was clutching his heart.  "I...need...fresh air..." he gasped.

"Hey, lady, is this guy bothering you?" said a young, male customer who had seen what was going on.

"I don't know, man" replied the hippy girl.  "This guy was asking about what I was wearing..."


"Oh I see..." said the man in a threatening tone and rolling up his sleeves.  "I've dealt with perverts like him before!"

"GASP!" cried George and Edna turned to see him down on his knees having a panic attack.

"George!  Oh no!  Make way!  Make way!  I'm his wife...clear the area, he's having one of his turns!"  Edna helped George back to his feet and led him out of the shop.

They went straight home from Magnolia Promenade where George had a drink, some air and time to calm down.  "Oh Edna...that young woman you sent me to speak with:  She turned out to be a nudist!  I wasn't prepared, I just wasn't prepared!" he said.

"No, that was my fault...I should have been more aware of the type of customer we were dealing with.  My one wasn't much better; a loose woman on the pill, shall we say?" 

"Well I appreciate you coming to my assistance" said George.

"My wifely duty, George.  After all, you've always been there in my hour of need" replied Edna, warmly.

The two felt drawn to each other at that moment.  Not a word passed their lips but they sat on the couch, looking lovingly in each others' eyes.  Slowly, ever slowly, they inched towards one another until those lips were touching and then they gently held each other as they embraced and kissed.


It wasn't just a peck either, they kissed over and over; lovingly and tenderly.  The years together rolled back and they were like they were when they were first courting.  Finally, their lips parted.

"That's enough of that" said Edna.

"Yes, I must get to work now.  A most pleasant experience, thank you" replied George.

He went off to the restaurant and Edna craved a drink, so she headed off to the Rattlesnake Juice Bar.  Not her favourite haunt, but a place George often stopped at on his way back from work.


"Your usual, Mrs Sneedley?" asked the barman.

"Yes thank you, David.  That's lovely.  David...do you ever get worried about the permissive society?" she asked.

"Only that it's passing me by" replied the barman.

Edna drank the crisp dry white wine and thought about what to make of what her and George found this morning.  Was it that young women were to blame or the people who tell them what they should wear, listen to and do with their lives?  So much to ponder.


"You know what I don't like about today's society, Mrs Sneedley" 

"What's that, David?"

"Modern art.  I just don't get it:  Blobs, lines, splatter, wham...I mean, what's it all about?  Nothing, I tell you, nothing."

Edna thought about that...yes, modern art: Another symptom of society in decay.  She finished her second drink and put the glass down on the bar, loudly.

"David...is the gallery down the road still open at this time?" she asked.

"Should be" the barman replied.

Edna settled her tab and headed off to the Futures Past museum, keen to find fault there.


The modern art section was on the 2nd floor so she wasted no time being distracted by the classical sculptures and Mediaeval works of art and headed straight there.  Upon arrival she spotted an abstract painting that immediately triggered her sensibilities.


"No, I don't get this at all" she said out loud.  "Are those meant to be hills?  Did the artist just spill paint by mistake?"

"I think you'll find that the shapes are held in proportion to each other...the painting holds the rounded sections and the lines in tension, juxtaposing the very shapes themselves" came a voice from next to her.  Turning to see who had spoken, she saw that it was none other than her nemesis: Alan Cuffe.

"Oh no, trust you to like this, Mr Cuffe" she said.


"I appreciate art and beauty in all its forms" he said.

"Yes...especially if it's wearing a bathing suit" she responded, snidely.

"You know, Edna, your life would be considerably improved if you didn't spend so much time seeking out things that offend you."

"I have a duty to protect our community!"

"No one asked you"

"Because you've lured them into complacency"

"You credit me with too much influence, Edna"

"I see your influence growing day by day, Mr Cuffe"

"You don't know the half of what goes on in this city...if you did you wouldn't see me as your great enemy!" Cuffe's voice started to crack as he said those words.  Suddenly, he went quiet.

Edna took a moment to compose herself during this brief silence before saying "Well, I've made my point perfectly clear.  Goodbye, Mr Cuffe"


She headed home where she rendezvoused with George.

"I have met the enemy, George" she said "...and he is scared!"

"Of us?" asked George.

"Why yes, who else?" she replied.



Wednesday, 17 March 2021

CHAPTER 90: The Accomplice


 If there was one person in Foundry Cove who was not putting on weight it was John Action.  Every morning he'd do his calisthenics, which included imagining the faces of the perps he wanted to arrest on his punching bag.  "You have the right....BAM!....to remain silent....punk!"

"Still packing a punch, eh Action?" said a voice.  Action turned around so see his old Marine buddy, Marcus Flex, jogging past.  Marcus stopped and the two men had a chat.

"Hey, Marcus....still doing the dawn run?" said Action.

"You know me...old habits die hard" replied Marcus.

"Do your housemates get annoyed that you get up at 5am?"

"Pah, civilians, eh?" joked Marcus.

"Semper Fi, dude" said Action.  "We should meet up soon, it's been too long, man"

"Hold you to it...gotta go, Action, but let's meet soon" and with that, Marcus continued his morning run.

Action went home to shower and get dressed for work.  There was a case that remained unsolved...the art theft at Oasis Springs.  Sure, they got the main thief but they never got the getaway driver and after weeks of chasing leads the Sim City PD had got nowhere with the case.

He went down to the lab to speak with their specialist: Bibi Stahler, on loan from the Munich police force in West Germany but an expert and fine analytical mind to consult.

"I have been looking at the various case files, Action" said Bibi.  "I would guess that the person you are looking for is approximately the same age as the thief; a young person, early to mid twenties.  This is based on the various witness reports and the nature of the crime itself: Not clinical or professional...more like opportunistic and chaotic.  This would indicate someone relatively inexperienced in crime."

"Good to know...you know your stuff" said Action, who gave her a finger pistol sign.  "I'm going to go through the police files to see if there are any new witness reports"

Action looked through the recent files and found one report from a witness that caught his eye.  A Kathy Hardin, age 26, from Windenburg, had overheard someone bragging about how they got paid a large sum of money for just driving really fast from The Solar Flare lounge in Oasis Springs to Windenburg.  It could be some loudmouth punk hot rodder but it could also be the elusive getaway driver as well.  Action telephoned Miss Hardin and asked for her to come down to the station to give another statement to him.

The first thing Action noticed about Miss Hardin was how her skirt perfectly hugged the contours of her hips.  The second thing was that she could be very specific on one or two points but annoyingly vague about everything else.

"I remember this guy...young, like recent college graduate young" began Hardin.  "Brown hair and wearing white shorts."

"What about his shirt or jacket?" asked Action.

"I don't recall those.  But the shorts were definitely white...oh, and his shoes: They were odd looking" she continued.

"By odd do you mean colour, style, size?" Action pressed her for greater detail.

"I mean odd looking.  I don't know, I can't quite put my finger on it.  Anyway he was splashing the cash around at the nightclub"

"Which nightclub?"

"I don't recall...but he was waving thick wads of banknotes around the club buying round after round and saying 'easy come, easy go...live fast and die young'"

"And what makes you think he'd got that money illegally?" asked Action.

"Because he said all he had to do to get it was drive up to that club that got robbed....The Solar Flare...wait in the van and then drive like hell once his 'friend' came out with the 'goods'".

"Who was he talking to about this?"

"Erm..." Hardin looked off into the distance trying to think.  "...this other young guy.  He had strange hair."

"When you say 'strange' what do you mean?" sighed Action.

"Just...strange.  Like sticking up, high.  Like it was glued" said Hardin.

"Miss Hardin, have you anything else you can remember?"

"I think that covers it.  But definitely brown hair, white shorts and...."

"Strange shoes.  I got it, Miss Hardin"  Action went to write up these notes but he needed something more to go on.  It was time to visit one of his street contacts.

Heading on down to Newcrest, Action spotted a couple of familiar faces.  One of them was the person he was looking for.

Whitney Crocker was a professional dancer by day but lived in a hippy commune down by Haight Simsbury.  She'd provided Action with some good information about anti-social behaviour down that way...anything that disturbed her "chakra". 

Joanna Thompson was a lady of dubious virtue.  Action had known her since he was a teenager, she the scrappy little sister of a friend and she liked to play people off of each other.  He didn't know what she did for a job but judging by the thigh length boots, the fishnet stockings and the low cut top he had a pretty good idea.  He also knew that she was one of the best sources of insider information in the city.

"Well, well, well, I didn't know you chicks knew each other" said Action, sauntering over to them.

"Unfortunately we do" said Whitney.  "I've been trying to convince Joanna here to move on; this is a peaceful place"

"A girl's gotta make a livin', doll" said Joanna.

"Don't you two give me evils, now.  I just want some information, that's all" said Action.

"And if I do, will you get her out of there?" said Whitney.

"And if I do, what do I get?" asked Joanna.

"The usual reward" said Action. "Which will be enough for Jo to move along of her own accord"

"What do you want to know?" asked Joanna.

"I'm looking for a particular cat; brown hair, white shorts...young, like student age young.  He's been acting like one of the last of the big spenders of late...oh, and he wears some kind of strange shoes"

"By strange do you mean..." asked Whitney

"Anything that seems out of place" replied Action, sharply.

"There's this dude who wears women's shoes..." said Joanna.

"Wait!  He wears women's shoes?" said Action, his eyebrows raised.

"Some guys like that kind of thing, Action" said Whitney.  "It's not illegal for men to wear women's clothes"

"No. That's not what I meant...I know a perp who wears women's shoes; busted him some time back for vandalism"

"So if I've been of help, Action, maybe you could let me have some of that sweet SCPD expense money" said Joanna, flirting with him.  Action reached for a wallet and gave her 50 Simoleons.  Joanna held the money up to the sky and, satisfied, tipped her hat to him and walked off.

"Tsch! Lowering the tone" said a dismissive Whitney.

Action returned to his car where he found that the Precinct were calling him on the radio.

"Zebra Adam 13 here...over" said Action.

"Zebra Adam 13...we have an update on that suspect. Kathy Hardin called in again...says she's seen our suspect over at the Narwhal Arms, Winderburg"

"On my way" said Action, getting the car underway and heading straight for Windenburg.

Outside of the club he met Kathy Hardin, who was looking agitated.  "That's him! The guy with the brown hair and white shorts...and look at his shoes!" she said, looking in the window to the club.  "He's even talking to that spiky haired weirdo I was telling you about"

"I see..." said Action, looking at the two disreputable looking young men in the club.

"Leave it to me" he said, going in to the club.  He sauntered casually over to the bar where the two young men were sitting.  

"Hey, I hear you're buying" said Action to the brown haired man wearing women's shoes.  The man looked at Action, recognised him, and tried to run away.  Quick as a flash, Action was on him, pinning one arm behind his back.  "Not so fast, bucko!"

A black and white was called to bring the suspect in and Action followed back to the station, where Bibi Stahler was waiting for him.

"Well done, Detective.  Now..." she added a pause.  "Are you sure you've got the right man this time?"