Small story 8

They had already swerved to avoid a squirrel running across the road, gotten a bit too close for comfort with a fire hydrant, and had now stopped on the shoulder of the road because the flashing blue lights and howling sirens indicated that that was probably a good idea. Perhaps it wasn’t too wise to let Gringham drive anymore. It was only natural that his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be. He didn’t have the heart to tell his old pal, though. They had known each other for just about half a century and Gringham had been his chauffeur for almost as long. He’d be damned if he’d change that now. Besides, he was good to have in a car chase, as he had experienced no less than three times. Especially that one in India had been one for the books.

“Oh, it’s you.” said the officer through the window, looking past Gringham to the twirly-moustached man in the back seat.

“Indeed,” he replied, “So it is.”

“Where are you two headed this time?”

“To the airport!” the figure in the back seat answered enthusiastically, “We’re mounting a new expedition!”

It was obvious he was excited, and the police officer knew he would get nowhere arguing with him, so he decided to do the most time efficient and most of all safest thing he could come up with.

“Listen, you shouldn’t be driving along here all on your own. Stay behind me, I’ll escort you to the airport, yeah?”

The twirly-moustached man nodded, “Better do as he says, Gringham.”

“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.

“ ’S a bit over the top giving us an escort for a short trip like this,” the man said as the officer was making his way back to his car, “but I suppose if they have the resources to spare... why not?”

 

Keeping the speed limit seemed to do the trick for Gringham. At least he was swerving less, now that he was staying behind the police car. That didn’t mean that the officer didn’t keep a close eye on them in his mirror, though.

Once they arrived at the airport, the police officer bid them farewell and was on his way. Gringham struggled to get the baggage out of the trunk of the Bentley he had nearly wrecked on the way there. The man with the twirly moustache considered the airport. It had been some time since he was last here, but it didn’t really look very different. He relished his return to this place, a hub of travel, a gateway to the rest of the world. He felt relieved, at ease. It had been a silly thing, deciding to retire. One cannot retire from adventuring – one cannot retire from what you are.

“Now then, Gringham, let us go and find these traveling companions of ours.”

“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.