window cleaners at a private school - part 5

Brashwood Manor was situated in the posh part of London. But Brexham Estate was emphatically not. The estate had a certain bedraggled hang-dog look about it, as if it too knew what other people said about it, and knew it to be true. The sultry Sunday morning was just maturing gracefully into that hazy period between morning and afternoon, when a man was espied on the road. He was running. This was nothing new, and the street urchins stood eagerly to spot the expected policeman behind him as was the norm in Brexham. Yet there was no policeman, and as the man came closer, his police uniform became distinguishable and immediately the urchins turned their gaze in the opposite direction looking for who he was chasing. No one. They turned back to the policeman...only he had disappeared too. Shaking their heads and putting it down to the extra-strong weed they were smoking, the urchins collapsed back into the dark previces from where they had come out, gloomily observing the lack of quality entertainment, or what normal people would describe as lootings, robberies and street-fights.
The policeman hadn't infact been a figment of drug-fueled imagination, rather he was at this moment panting up a side-alley. He stopped abruptly at a shabby door and knocked on it sharply, then hastily stopped, as the door practically collapsed. Chastened he knocked with slightly more care.
"Open up inside" shouted the policeman, "Important news for a Mr Danny Ali".
The house remained defiant in the face of the law. The law getting increasingly exasperated put aside any vestiges of professional decorum remaining and marched into the house.
"WHAT DA HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING" snarled a voice. The room was a dingy affair. It had threadbare sofas all around the walls, with piles of blankets in each corner, and a remarkable table dominated the room in the centre, which on closer inspection proved to be an operation table, with some bloodstains remaining on it, hinting darkly at its past occupation.
The man that had spoken lay on this operation table, which seemed doubled up as a bed.
"Well bloody SPEAK then, just cuz you is de law dont mean nothing round here man." Just as quickly as he had exploded, the black man rolled over, facing away from the policeman, and for all intents and purposes seemed intent on going back to sleep.
"Err..." began the wrongfooted police officer,"Theres been a crime committed in the early hou-"
"I aint never done it" the man interjected with his eyes still closed.
"No, no thats not what I meant-", the policeman continued.
"Cuz I was here with my crew all the time. Ask Bob." Here the black man, with his eyes still closed, pointed from under the quilt, at the corner and jerked his hand upwards.
The policeman turned again to what looked like a big pile of blankets, which was now slowly, rising, as if under the black mans command, and parting like the Red Sea under Moses' guiding hand. A bald man emerged, seated on a wheelchair, which was so old, with enormous wheels, that it could have been mistaken for a go-kart.