Hello listeners, and welcome back to Underwood and Flinch. How are you?
Did you know there's just three more episodes of season four to go? Of
course you didn't, but you do now Yeah to now, Yes, But
anyway, time for twenty twenty three me to hand over to twenty seventeen me
for the original Patreon episode introduction to this episode, over to you, Mike.
Last time, David and Ronnie were sitting in the pub talking about things
to do with vampires and the Malleus and so on, and well there was
a little revelation towards the end, which I'm going to repeat in the text
of this episode, so you'll hear that in a moment. But yes,
if follows directly on. Another thing that this episode does is it kind of
runs in parallel time wise with the end of episode twelve. Now you may
remember Damo was walking down the street. He just brought some flowers to take
back to Rose when a voice called to him across the street and he looked
over and it was David. So the action of this episode kind of matches
it, if you will, as the two timelines for David and Damo come
together in this episode and from here on they will be in sync, which
is nice. Anyway, that's enough introduction from me. Here it is episode
fourteen. I hope you enjoy it. Underwood and Flinch, Season four Underground,
Written and read by Mike Bennett. This podcast is intended for mature audiences.
Listener discretion is advised. Episode fourteen. Neither David nor Ronnie paid any
attention when the two women sitting at a table opposite them got up, gathered
their things, and left, Nor did they notice when a man in a
gray sports jacket and a polar neck sweater came over and sat down at the
recently vacated table. He was in his early forties, of lean build with
short brown hair. His name was Jim Glover, and he'd been following David
since his escape from the sect house opposite Hyde Park. He seated himself at
the table, selecting a chair that was angled towards David and Ronnie. He
then put down his glass of lemonade and opened out his copy of the Evening
Courier before him and began to pretend to read. Occasionally, he'd glance over
the top of his paper, especially interested in Ronnie, whom he'd never seen
before. He took out his phone, looking at it as if he just
received a text message, which he hadn't. He was actually opening the camera
app holding the phone in front of him as though reading his imaginary text.
He smiled and snapped a picture of the floor with Ronnie in the top left
hand corner of the frame. He then sent the photo to Elizabeth Daventry with
the message flinch with this man in pub Details of their location weren't necessary because
he had already informed Elizabeth of where they were. Once the picture had been
sent, Glover returned to his pretense of reading the paper while stealing occasional glances
at his quarry. He paid no attention to the two men at the next
window table along from David and Ronnie, as they had been there since before
he arrived. The men hadn't noticed Glover either, though one of them,
a shaven headed thirty eight year old named Phil Sloane, had been paying attention
to the women who'd been sitting there before him. They'd been easier on the
eye than the person that he and his partner were supposed to be watching,
the journalist, Ronnie Bishop. Sloane and his partner had been trailing Bishop all
day, and it was proving to be one of the most boring assignments he
could remember. A short while ago, another guy had come in and sat
down with Bishop, and the two of them had started talking, but Sloane
couldn't hear a word of it. He couldn't look directly at the men,
so he'd look at their reflection in the window, or, which was infinitely
preferable, he'd look at the women sitting at the table opposite them. When
the women left, he sighed and looked at his partner, Jeff Whitmore,
a man he'd only met that morning, only for an interesting he asked.
Whitmore was seated with his back to Bishop and trying to eavesdrop on the conversation
while pretending to be absorbed in a crossword puzzle. He raised a finger that
bids Sloan to wait quietly. Whitmore couldn't hear much through the buzz of chatter
and laughter in the bar, but every now and again he'd catch snatches of
Bishop's conversation, and he jot down whatever he heard into the crossword puzzle or
elsewhere on the page. Both Whitmore and Sloan were police detectives, though neither
was based in London, Whittemore was with Greater Manchester Police and Sloan was with
Thames Valley Police in Slough. Yesterday, their supervising officers had each received calls
from Detective Chief Superintendent Charles Coleridge requesting that they'd be temporarily reassigned to London's Falconbridge
CID to assist in the hunt for the London Vampire. Those bosses had consented,
each quietly delighted that for all its resources, the London met still needed
to call on outside expertise when confronted with a complex serial killer case. They
were unaware that Falconbridge CID meant the Occult Crimes Unit because the Occult Crimes Unit
did not officially exist, but Whitmore and Sloan were aware of this because they
were operatives of the OCU. Both men had been called to Falconbridge before,
but never at the same time or on the same case, hence there not
being acquainted until now. The permanent staff of Falconbridge consisted of only a handful
of people. The rest of the OCUS agents were stationed with other police forces
around the UK. Now, Whittemore was repeatedly circling a phrase he'd written on
his newspaper. He leaned across the table to show it to Sloan. It
said knows about Mallius, Shit, said Sloan. Was she saying Whitmore?
Shook his head and sat back, resuming his ardent crossword puzzler pretense and return
earning his ears to the hard to follow conversation behind him. Ronnie leaned in
across the table and said, in a confidential tone, his name was Charles
Coleridge, who's now Detective Chief Superintendent Coleridge, the man who's leading the investigation
into the London Vampire. He raised his eyebrows and sat back. David was
stunned. It could be a coincidence, but in light of everything that he'd
been through since being summoned to Spain, he doubted it. Ronnie was watching
him, enjoying his reaction, which David realized must be speaking volumes. He
smiled and said, in as unimpressed a voice as he could muster, Well,
it could have been a coincidence, how sure it was? Nineteen eighty
two Sam Geezers were wearing frocks and makeup, but not policeman matching rings on
a pair of London coppers. Either they were engaged to be married, or
there was something weird going on. Not a two men being engaged to each
other wouldn't have been weird enough in itself, but were the rings actually matching?
You couldn't have seen that cross motif on him in the dark while they
were beating you up. No, but I did see it on Coleridge's ring
when I was at his station a few days earlier. I remember thinking it
was pretty cool from wondering where he'd got it from, and although I didn't
see any details on a ring on his mate's finger, the fact that he
had a ring, same appearance, same man, same finger. He shook
his head. Nah, you think what you like, Dave. I know
what I believe. And what's that? Ronnie considered David a moment, then
said, I don't suppose you've got one of them iPhones? Have you?
Yeah, said David, touching Kendall's phone through the fabric of his jack.
Funny enough, I just caught one. You know how to turn it on?
Yet? David took out the phone and activated the screen. Yeah,
you get the Internet on that, right? Yeah? Why do an Internet
search on the word mallius? He spelled it out for him. David opened
the Internet browser, keyed in the word, and pressed search. At the
top of the list that came back was a Wikipedia entry about a hammer shaped
bone of the middle ear called the Mallius. Then another Wikipedia entry entitled Malleus
Malificarium, after which was written usually translated as hammer of Witches. It is
the best known and most important treatise on witchcraft. He showed the screen to
Ronnie. Clever little things, adn't they took me years to learn NAT?
And he's you doing it in the wink of an eye. You mean this
Malleus malificarium thing. Yeah, the medieval witch Hunters handbook. Fucking looney tunes
more like. So what you think the Mallia Society took their name from this?
But it was either from NAT or a bone in the middle ear,
which do you think is more likely? David glanced down at the screen and
read aloud, the Hammer of Witches. And that's what they were. Those
blokes who used to meet over at flows Dad's coffee shot back in the eighteen
sixties, a group of men dedicated to rooting out Satanism and black magic wherever
they found it. Unfortunately, they rooted out more than a good handle.
And so what you think this Detective Chief Superintendent Coleridge is part of some kind
of modern day Mallius society, not some kind of mate. I think he's
part of a very same thing that motif on their rings that m and his
mate add on. I didn't realize it until years later, when I finally
stumbled onto this. Ronnie pointed at David's phone. It's not a cross but
hammer, the hammer of witches. He drank the last of his pint and
set the glass down with satisfaction. Tides out, Dave, you're round,
I think. David was momentarily speechless as he tried to process Ronnie's strange but
compelling assertion. Though he'd never heard anything about a Malleus society from either Underwood
or Daventry in West, that didn't mean it didn't exist. Come on,
san, said Ronnie, tapping the rim of his glass. I know technically
it's my round, but since I'm no one that is doing all the enlightening
round here, I think it's only right that you wept my whistle same again.
Please. Oh, I'll keep the crisps coming too, but I've given
you all my money, Ronnie, I'm sure I take plastic. David,
still processing the idea that he was potentially up against not just a couple of
vampires, but also a society of vampire hunters with members in Scotland, Yard
nodded awkwardly. Yeah, yeah, okay, same again, and I think
this time I really will join you. He got up and started for the
bar. Good man, said Ronnie, taking out his cigarettes. Tell you
what, while you're getting them in, I'm going to pop out for a
fag. He got up fags, said David, eyeing the pack. Actually,
do you mind if I join you? I could really use a smoke.
Ronnie looked at him suspiciously. You've got your own right, I ain't
flashing your these like I did me. Crisps price of fags now days bleeding
outrageous. I'm sorry, no, I don't, said David, patting his
pockets. He'd left the pack Kendle had bought him back at the sacked house.
I've been kind of disorganized lately. Ronnie took out a cigarette, put
it between his lips, and then pointedly put the pack back in his pocket.
Tough tits, mate, I'm not a bleeding charity there's a shop just
down a street. You can get some in there. He turned and headed
for the door. David hovered for a moment, then went after him.
He caught up with him just as he was lighting up outside the doorway.
All right, so where's this shop? Then, he asked. Ronnie drew
in a sharp inhalation of smoke and pointed a short way down on the other
side of the street, just over there. David looked in the indicated direction
and saw the illuminated shop front through the traffic. He was about to start
walking when a man in a black hoodie passing in front of the shop turned
towards the traffic and passing headlights swept across his face. It was just a
glimpse, but in that fleeting moment, David could have sworn it was damo.
Now the man was walking away, shoulders hunched and head down. He
had a bunch of flowers in his hand. Jesus, David whispered, what
said Ronnie? David ignored him. He walked out into the floe of passing
pedestrians, trying to get a better view of the retreating figure on the other
side of the street. As cars and buses streamed between them. He had
to get another look at his face. David cupped his hands and shouted after
him, dame O. The man continued without pause. Undeterred. David walked
to the curb and shouted through the traffic as loudly as he could dame O.
The man stopped. Oh Jesus, said a voice in David's head.
You've done it now. If he is a vampire, if he killed Lisa
and now he's looking for you, you've just handed yourself to him on a
plate. The man raised his head and turned around, his face lit by
the glow of street lights and the headlights of passing cars. It was Damo.
He was looking around for whoever was calling him. Last chance, Dave,
just turn around and walk away. No, I have to know,
David said under his breath. He cupped his hands to his face again and
shouted, hey, Damo, over here. Just as Damo turned in his
direction, the traffic on David's side of the street slowed, and a bus
stopped squarely in front of him. He hurried to the front of it and
looked back across the street just as Demo's eyes lighted upon him. Nervously,
David raised a hand and waved. Then Damo smiled a big smile, the
kind that left no doubt that he was pleased to see him. Oh,
thank Christ, David said to himself. He didn't kill her. It wasn't
him. He looked in the direction that Demo had been walking for a means
of crossing the road, and saw a pedestrian crossing. David pointed to it,
jabbing his finger to indicate a Damo that they should head there. Who
didn't kill her? Said a voice close behind what David turned to see,
Ronnie, his face hawkishly quizzical. Oh it's nothing, just a friend.
Ronnie's squint deepened. A friend who didn't kill her? David shook his head.
No, you've got the wrong end of the stick, Ronnie. Look,
I'm sorry, but I've got to go just for a little while.
I've just seen someone i've got to talk to. It's urgent, I'm afraid,
he pointed at the pub doorway. You're going to be here, right,
I'll be back soon. We've still got loads to talk about, and
it's my round. I haven't forgotten all right, Yeah right, said Ronnie
as David ran off down the street, tossa you don't just owe me a
drink, mate, you owe me a bleeding story. Unless He turned to
look across the street to where the guy David had been shouting at was now
staring directly at him, his eyes darkly suspicious. In the lights of a
passing car, Ronnie saw red lines on the man's face. They looked like
scratches, fading scars, yet still livid, Ronnie smiled, unless you o
my story, Sunshine, I wonder. When Ronnie and David got up to
go outside, Jim Glover, who hadn't been able to hear a word of
their conversation, got up and followed them at a discreet distance. As he
neared the pub entrance, he saw through the doors windows that they had stopped.
Just outside. The man Flinch had met with was lighting a cigarette.
There was a vacant bar stool table near the door, and Glover perched on
one of the stools where he had a clear view of the two men outside.
He took out his phone and called Elizabeth Daventry. As he was waiting
for her to answer, Flinch suddenly walked out of his view. Glover got
up and went to the doors. Through the windows, he saw Flinch had
gone to the curb. He looked like he was looking for something on the
other side. Then Elizabeth answered his call. What is it, she answered
curtly. Glover spoke into his Bluetooth device. It's Flinch man. He's outside
the pub. Glover stopped as David shouted something into the traffic. He's seen
someone who I don't know, someone on the other side of the street.
I can't see for her. He stopped talking as Flinch shouted again. Glover
pushed the door open wide enough to hear Damo. He said. Some one
called Damo. Damo, said Elizabeth, her voice suddenly keen. Can you
see him? No, ma'am, traffic's too heavy. Then Flinch shouted,
hey, Damo over here. We'll move for God's sake, said Elizabeth.
Get a better you now, Flinch was waving. Glover looked across the street
and saw a man in a hooded top smiling back. I see him,
ma'am. Male Caucasian, roughly mid thirties, wearing a black hooded top.
Now Flinch was talking to the man he'd met in the pub. He looked
both excited and anxious as he started edging away from him. Can you get
a picture, asked Elizabeth. Flinch was now walking away. Glover stepped outside.
Perhaps it was the movement of the door catching his eye, but the
man Flinch had been calling to on the other side of the street now looked
straight at him. Glover looked away and started after Flinch. He's on the
move, ma'am heading south on King's Way. I'm in pursuit. But what
about this demo person. Glover was following David from about ten meters behind,
keeping an eye on him through the pedestrians that wove between them. The man
in a dark suit overtook him, and Glover thought for a moment he looked
like a man he'd seen in the pub. It looks like Flinch's going to
meet with him. I'm gonna have to keep me a distance, though.
I think his friend clocked me. I don't know if it's anything to worry
about, but if he sees me hanging around too close, he could twig
that something's up. Okay, said Elizabeth, I'll send some one to take
over. You'll be able to go back and keep tabs on the man he
met in the pub, But for now, stay with Flinch. I'll call
back soon to say who's relieving you. She hung up. Now Flinch,
who had stopped at a pedestrian crossing and was waiting for the lights to change,
was looking across the street for his friend. Glover walked past him,
noticing as he did the guy from the pub was now also standing at the
crossing. He continued on, not wanting to stop anywhere near Flinch in case
the friend should clock him again. Then he heard Flinch shout dame O wait.
Glover stopped, stepping swiftly behind one of the many trees that lined Kingsway
and peered around the traffic. Lights had changed and Flinch was running across the
street. There was no sign of his friend on the other side. Shit,
he hissed. He ran out into the traffic, idling at the lights.
Then the lights changed and the traffic started moving again, Glover weaving through
it, waving at the drivers to stop and getting black looks and curses in
reply. He reached the pavement, he could see Flinch way up ahead running
for the station, but he wasn't the only one. The man in the
dark suit from the pub was running after him. What the fuck? He
said, as he started running, Who the fuck are you? Whitmore and
Sloane, who had had the benefit of knowing David and Ronnie were going out
for a cigarette, were taking advantage of what they expected to be a pause
in events where they could compare notes. David and Ronnie had just left,
and neither of them paid any attention to the man in the polar next sweater
as he casually got up to follow them. So what they've been saying,
that was our to follow, said Whitmore. Any town bishop had something interesting
to say, he moved away from me to keep it quiet. What about
the rest of the time, Yeah, I got a fair amount. Bishop
certainly knows about the Malleus. To what extent I can't say, but he's
told at least some of what he knows to the other guy. His name's
Dave, came here to give Bishop in for one the London vampire case.
You think his bishop's sauce could be. He told him we were looking for
two killers. But that's all I heard. I wish you'd get pictures.
Can you get shot from now? Whitmore, who was inclining his head to
the window to keep an eye on Ronnie and David where they stood outside,
wrinkled his nose. Yeah, we won't have to try and get a slige
one when they come back in. Why don't you get the drinks in and
then you can snap a few from the bar? Hang on. He lifted
a finger to point outside. Looks like Dave seeing something. Sloane turned just
in time to see David shout across the street. Who's he sharing it?
How the folk should? I know? You want to go out? I
don't know, said Whittemore. Do you smoke? No, me, neither
might look a bit. Wait did you hear that? He shouted again?
A name? Yeah, sounded like Demo. Now he's waving, but who
too? I don't know, said Sloane. Then he pointed a finger.
No. Look there across the street, Kis are in a black hoodie.
I see him. Hello, here goes Bishop sticking his oar in. Oh
look, Dave's not having any of it, Pierce off. He's saying we
should get out there, Jeff, let's too busy to note us. Now,
yeah, all right, let me just call into Coleridge. He took
out his phone. Here, said Sloane, he's that brooke looking at us.
Whittemore looked at where Sloane was facing the man. In the hooded top
was indeed looking at them for come on, let's go. They got up
and headed for the door. How do you want to play, he asked
Sloane split up. I'll go after Dave. You go back and cross over
to the underground station and follow our new mate Damo from there. But what
about Bishop. There's only two of us, Mate, we can't follow everyone.
We know Bishop, he's most likely going to stay here for another drink
or three. Coleridge can get someone to take over if need be. But
the other two, especially Dave, we can't afford to lose. Chances are
the two of them are going to meet up, and if that happens,
one of us can come straight back. But if not, well we just
have to keep in touch. Whittemore pushed open the pub door. The two
men parted, Whittemore turning to the right to follow David, and Sloan turning
left towards the crossing to Hobn Station. Sloane was careful not to look across
the street. He walked down to the traffic lights and stopped behind people already
waiting for the lights to change. Casually, he glanced right to see if
the man in the hooded top was still where he had been. He wasn't.
He turned his head, looking further down the street towards where Whitmore was
heading. The man wasn't there. Sloane scoured the crowds back towards the station,
and there he was, walking past a newspaper kiosk near the station entrance
and looking straight at him. On meeting Sloane's eyes, the man bolted,
shit, said Sloane. He took out his phone and called Whitmore. After
a few moments, Whitmore answered what it's Damo, it's Clockny and legged it
into the station. Okay, you get back to Bishop. Looks like Dave's
shit he is. He's running, Carl Coleridge. Sloane looked down the street
and saw David running through the pedestrians towards the station. Ten meters behind him.
Whittemore was running in pursuit. Sloane turned and walked back to the pub,
where Ronnie Bishop was now taking pictures of the other side of the street
with a small digital camera. And those will come in endy when we pick
you up, late a Bishop, said Sloane under his breath. He paid
no further attention to the opposite side of the street, keeping his eyes casually
averted. However, had he done so, he would have noticed a man
on a jacket and poland neck sweatter running not far behind Whittemore. Ronnie took
shots of all of them as first David, then Whittemore, then Glover ran
one by one after Damo into the underground, And so listeners, the chase
is on. Will Damo escape his pursuers, Will David escape his pursuers,
And will Whitmore escape his pursuer? All will be revealed next time in Underwood
and Flinch. The music you're listening to is Ahmad Aama by Farid Fajad from
the album and Ruiser Volume four, Gurness of Taranay Records and our good friend
Faras al Malud. You can buy the track from Amazon or iTunes or stream
it from Spotify, YouTube Music, Google Music, Apple Music, etc.
Etc. And there we are, ladies and gentlemen. That was Underwood and
Flinch season four, episode fourteen, and I hope you enjoyed it. Here's
a quick word now from me from the original Patreon podcast of this episode.
Some of you may be thinking Mike's Manchester accent isn't very good, and I'd
be inclined to agree with you, But never mind. You know, I
just have to have voices that don't sound all the same, you know,
because if everyone spoke like me, and obviously good many of the characters do,
then you wouldn't be able to tell them about whatsoever. So forgive me
for my bad accents and know that it's all there to provide you with a
sense of difference between the characters. Like you care, I don't know.
I was obviously seized with anxiety about that issue at the time, But anyway,
Yes, I included you merely because it is in the original episode.
But that typical moment of self doubt brings us to the end of another episode.
As always, thank you for listening, my friends. It wouldn't be
the same without you. And don't forget to tell someone about Underwood and Flinch
if you've any friends who enjoy podcasts. Much as I'd like to rest on
my laurels and think, oh, no, need to worry about new listeners.
There's a possible TV series, isn't there that should take care of it.
Yeah, where where is this TV series? I can't go through life
leaving everything to possible. This is all that we have to live in the
present, don't we? So yes, spread the word, please do.
I'm grateful for every new pair of ears I get because they, unlike possible
TV shows, are real. And on that existential note, I'll leave you,
my friends once again, thank you for listening, but from me for
now until the moon rises again over Underwooden Flinch, have a great week and farewell.