ALL IN A DAY'S WORK

by

Jatona P. Walker

"Well, don't you know, that's the sound of the men workin' on the chain g-a-ang..."

The gentle baritone brought me out of a sound sleep with rather a start, for it had a definite ring of familiarity about it. Bleary-eyed, I glanced at the bedside clock - the illuminated dial showed 10:00 AM. I smiled. That explained everything. The voice could only belong to none other than my partner, and lover, William Andrew Phillip Bodie - known to all, from sweet little old ladies to the most ruthless, living terrorist, as "Bodie".

Climbing out of bed, for he was singing one of my favorite American imports, I went in search of him, following the sound and wondering why he was in such a good mood (Christ, we didn't get to sleep until 'round midnight...!). Usually a wondrous session of loving tires my Bodie out. Mind, I'm not saying Bodie tires easily; far from it! When it comes to stamina, my Bodie'd win balls down! In top physical condition, he is...every lovely inch of him, like marble perfection.

Sorry. Don't mean to ramble. Loving someone like Bodie can get you crazy at times.

Anyway, the sounds led me to the bathroom. I approached, cautiously, in case I might catch him in an embracing moment, and fell in love all over again at the sight that greeted me.

There was Bodie - rough, tough 'never needed anybody', master of black humor, Bodie - down on his hands and knees, that delightful bum high in the air, scrubbing away on the bathroom tiles.

" 'My..my..my..my..my..my..my work is so hard' ", the voice belted out in a pretty good falsetto. " 'Give me water! I'm thirsty! My..my..my..my..my..my work is so hard...' " It continued.

Knowing what was coming next, and never able to resist anything about him, I crept forward, straddled his rear-end, and rode with his movements as he emulated the groans of those men doomed to hard labour.

Ten minutes later {the sensations had caused both of us to come..and me all over his back and shorts}, we shared our good morning kiss. Kissing Bodie is something I'll never tire of - mouth draws you like a bee to honey, but even honey can't compare to the way his mouth tastes. Addictive, it is.

"How long have you been up?" I asked, when I could finally breathe {a grizzly has nothing on Bodie's hugs}.

"Since five-thirty", he answered, releasing me, and putting every utensil in its proper place.

My mind reeled at this. Five-thirty! Bodie never, ever crawls out of bed before Noon if we have time off; and, if he had to, it was either because of Cowley or restlessness. It certainly was not to do house-cleaning.

"Must be love", I teased.

He turned to me and flashed that lethal smile. "You bet you sweet, firm melon-shaped arse, it's love!"; then, added with a good-natured grumble. "Not doin' this for me health, you know."

We both laughed then. It was an old joke between us, especially since we've been lovers. I love teasing him because he's so methodically clean. Military training, you know: spit, polish 'n all that.

Yet, for all that, I still was not prepared as I inspected the bathroom - not a trace of grim anywhere. Hell, he'd evern washed down the walls! The tub and floor proved the same. I thought of that Yank commercial - the one with those little scrubbing bubbles chasing each other all over the tub and walls. Made a mental note to get him a T-shirt with one on it, eyes like his, and have it read: Doyle's basin, tub and tile cleaner.

"This is great", I murmured, giving him a fierce hug. Oh, not to say Bodie's a slough when it comes to his share of the chores; it just took him a while to adjust to the space. A spot of your own in the barracks, or your own flat, is one thing; having to realize that flat & space are shared is quite another. Releasing him I turned toward the bedroom.

"Where're you going?", he called after me.

"To get dressed and help out."

"No need. Downstairs is all done."

"No fair", I teased, drawing him close once more, and putting on my best 'little boy' imitation. "What's left for me to have fun at, then?"

Must be getting old; I never reached the stairs to make my escape.

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Shopping with Ray is like shopping with your mum...usually. However, on this particular day, his manner was anything but motherly. Must've been that extra round of lovin' I gave him this morning. Put him in shock, I did - what my getting up at five-thirty )residual from me military/merc days), doing five hours of house-cleaning (on one cuppa and two biscuits), and, then, having enough strength for him.

Don't know what he's so surprised about. Hard work's always given me a massive Doyle "appetite"...or didn't I ever mention that to them.

Anyway, the store wasn't overly crowded (not usual for a week day) and we were making good time, getting what we need and quite a few treats (as I said, he was feeling overgenerous), when the first shot rang out.

Instinct and training carried us both to the floor. We reached for guns that, naturally, were at home.

"Everybody stay nice 'n cool, and nobody gets 'urt!", commanded a voice. The tone was that of a teenager, though he tried to make it deeper and tougher for effect. "Any 'eroics and 'bang bang'. Check out the back, " it added to a yet unseen accomplish.

There was instant quiet all round and we could hear approaching footsteps, then moans and futile struggling as people were rooted out from the aisles.

We were about to try and sneak around to another aisle when a my foot came in contact with another. I looked sideways and up into the barrel of a modern hunting rifle.

"Well, lookee 'ere!", the man drawled, his brown eyes fastened on me, the look all too familiar. "This is definitely my lucky day." He motioned with the gun. "Stand up, both of you; especially blue eyes, there. Nice and easy does it."

With the hand they couldn't see, I touched Ray's knee; it twitched in response. The 'Bistro Kids' had a plan.

One can learn a lot walking behind Doyle, although, he swears it's my rump drives him to distraction...the argument is about as old as our partnership. Trusting his word, I rose, making my movements as provocative as possible. Ray, for his part, merely stood and moved to my side.

It worked.

"Very nice, blue eyes", the man, who by now, we assumed was the leader, purred. "What's you name, pretty boy?"

I flashed him my most devastating smile. "Phil", I replied, making my voice husky and lowered my eyelashes.

"Phil, eh?" He gestured toward Ray. "And 'im?"

"My partner. We..." Here I paused for effect. "....work together. If you take my meaning." I winked outrageously.

The man's companion sniggered, but the leader gave me his best leer. "Yeah. I get your meaning. But, see, its like this", he turned the barrel toward Ray, "he'll have to watch."

His meaning was all too clear. I don't cooperate, Ray, and perhaps many innocent people, die.

I inched forwarded, seductively. "Do we need an audience?", I whispered, practically breathing in his ear. "I mean, can't your boys handle the others?"

Instinct served me again. For the briefest second he dropped his guard. It was all the time we needed. Before he realized his mistake, my right foot lashed out and caught him full force in a very vulnerable area of his anatomy. He doubled over, letting go of the gun. I caught it.

Cheerfully I pointed the barrel at my prisoner's head. "Make one sound, just one, and it'll be your last. Got me?" He nodded, clearly not so brace now. ":Good. Now, up front we go. Nice and easy does it. Still with me?" Again the nod. "Right. Then let's go."

The rest is...all in the family, sort to speak. As soon as we demonstrated our advantages, the other two surrendered. Found out they were all brothers, and the coopers were all smiles as they led them away.

Not only did we get pounded on the back, almost interviewed for the telly (thanks to one of Ray's old friends from his CID days, who was part of the arresting party, we avoided it), and patted on the checks by several matrons while calling us 'fine, brave young men, but the owner was so very grateful, we received a voucher for 'lifetime' free shopping.

Half an hour later we left, the Escort's near seat and boot filled to capacity.

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There have been many great partnerships throughout the centuries: Alexander had his

Hesphaistan, Zeus his Ganymede, Achilles his Patroklas, Batman his Robin, Starsky his Hutch; even Blake his Avon (or Avon his Villa, depending on to which theory you subscribe), but I think I got the best of all - my Bodie.

Loyal, modest and all heart, that's the real Bodie. Blushed real rosily at the praise we got for that little job in the store. And, when I told him what a sexy genius he was, he denied it vigorously. Took great delight in reminding him who get the most parts on the check.

But, obviously I hadn't seen nothing yet.

It was now around three and we were heading home, when we encountered a massive traffic jam.

I leaned my head out the window. :"What's the trouble?", I asked the nearest driver.

"A mover's in danger of going over side. Children trapped inside. Another rescue squad's on the way, but they might take some time to get through. Driver was thrown clear", he shouted back.

Without so much as a word, but moving as one, we locked up and made our way toward the scene, to offer our assistance. It was a real mess!

The mover's body was on its side, but the cab was hanging, precariously, over the railing. One of the volunteers was busy operating the wrench that held the mover's body immobile. An officer was at the rail with a bullhorn, talking to the children, trying to keep them calm. Off to one side, more officers were trying to subdue a hysterical man - no doubt he was the father.

I looked over the railings. Traffic had been cleared below on all sides.

We approached the nearest rescue vehicle and, again, Bodie took charge of the situation. "How may we help?" I almost smiled as his deep voice startled the officer. Has that kind of presence, has my Bodie. We flashed our ID.

"Can you climb?", the officer finally asked. He was a man in his late 50's...early 60's, who carried himself with the weariness of one who'd seen more failures than successes.

We both nodded. "What's the situation", I asked, merely for clarification.

"Two children trapped in the cab, which is hanging over the side. The father's over there." He pointed to the still hysterical man. "Says his brakes give out on him. Railing held damned well."

"Do you have the equipment to get to them?" Bodie asked, stripping off his jacket. I followed suit.

The man gave a grim shake of his head. "All we have is a giant crane, which is below, and ropes. We're trying to wait for the rescue squad, but they'll never get through that." He nodded toward the traffic.

"And you don't have that much time", I guessed.

"Right. Anymore slippage, and over it goes."

"Can you put two baskets on the crane?", Bodie asked.

"Yes, but..."

"Then do it. My partner and I will get them out."

The officer didn't question, but turned and issued orders of his own.

Within minutes we found ourselves suspended on each side of the car; each of us in a bucket with rope and harness.

When we reached the car I peeked inside. There were two very frightened children - a girl about ten and her younger brother. The boy was on my side. We had to hurry.

" 'ullo, inside!", I shouted, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

No answer.

"Son." I tried again. "I know you're scared, but you've got to help me", I pleaded.

My plea was ignore.

"Bodie?"

"Yeah?"

"The boy's too frightened to cooperate. See if you can get the girl to help."

"Right. I'll just be me charming self. Have 'er out in no time."

I smiled. Bodie may have been joking, but I know the effect he has on children. They love Bodie, and - well, it isn't that he didn't like them - he just preferred they belong to other people.

"Mr. Doyle?"

The loudness of the voice interrupted my thoughts. As of one mind, Bodie and I both looked down to the rescue team below. One of the fireman had a bullhorn to his mouth. "Yes?", I yelled back.

"The father tells me that his daughter loves to watch rescue work and can recognize some of the equipment...."

The point was well taken. "Right!", I replied. "Did you get that, Bodie?", I called over to him.

"Done."

I watched as he stuck his head back inside the car. His calm voice could be heard asking her questions and, obviously, answering her's. Ten minutes later, he straightened up. "Unhitch your ope, Ray, and throw it over so she can catch it", he instructed.

I nodded and did as I was told. She caught it and began to slowly pull it inside - all the while talking to her brother in a calm voice. I was very impressed for as he alternately pointed to the rope and talked, he began to relax, nodding when he understood.

Finally she looked over at him. "I tied the rope around him and hooked the big buckle. Was that right?"

I smiled, reassuringly, at her. "Very good, sweetheart. Is he ready?"

She said something to the boy; he nodded very very slowly. "I think so, sir", she said.

"Right. Now, son, scoot over, very slowly, toward me. Don't be afraid." He obeyed. As I waited, I noticed that the girl had tied Bodie's rope to herself and was doing the same thing. Finally they both were in reach.

Bodie took over. "Can you both hear me? Answer if you can."

"Yes, sir", they chorused.

"Good. Now, Mr. Doyle and I are going to pull each of you out and into our baskets. Don't move or fight us, just relax, and let us do all the work. Okay?"

"Sir?"

It was the boy.

"Yes?", Bodie replied.

"What will happen if we don't relax?"

He smiled. "Nothing at all, son. My friend and I are professionals and we will not, repeat not, let you fall. Okay?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Let's do it!"

With those words, each of us grabbed and pulled. We had cut it by minutes. As we hauled each child into our prospective baskets, there was a gut-wrenching shriek of rending metal.

"Get us down!", Bodie yelled. "The cab's getting ready to go!"

He needn't have worried. The rescue team head heard it, too. We were half way to the ground by the time he spoke.

Five minutes later, we had delivered two children to a grateful father.

An hour later, we were on our way again, home by seven, in bed by seven-thirty (Bodie made dinner, I was dessert), and asleep by nine.

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"Bodie! Doyle!"

The two men looked up as one from the report they were writing. The curly-haired one smile. "What's he on about, then?"

His dark-haired companion put the finishing touches on the report. "I haven't the slightest...", he began.

"Now, you two!"

"....but I've a feeling we're about to find out", he finished, as his partner opened the door.

The cheers that greeted them both stunned and puzzled them. It took almost half an hour to get through the crush of well-wishers.

"What did we do?", Bodie whispered to Doyle. "Win the lottery?"

Doyle was saved the reply as they broke free of their co-workers and faced CI5's Controller at last.

George Cowley raised his hands for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen of CI5, this brief respite is to pay tribute to two of our own whom, I hope, will serve as an example to you all...veteran and newcomer alike." For the next five minutes, Cowley related a capsulated version of their adventures, letting his talent for dramatics have full reign. When he was through, he turned to them. "Well, laddies, anything to say?", he asked, the picture of innocence.

Taken aback, the 'laddies' looked at one another, sharing the same thought //Christ, that was two weeks ago!!//; however, a response was in order. It was Bodie, to the surprise of all, who provided it. " 'S all in a day's work, sir."

"Aye", Cowley agreed, as he brought out several bottles of Glennfiddich -f rom his private stock. A toast was raised all round and it was back to business.....

THE LEGEND CONTINUE...

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