AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, we learn that the powers that be in newly-independent Wales (Cymru) have hatched an economic plan based on – land mines. Erm is still at the CIA (Cardiff International Airport)...

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 7

At the far end of the bar that now contained Professor Erm, a heavily armed police officer was out patrolling with his sniffer dog. The police officer, Constable Painting, was attached to the Dog Detection Department. The dog, Pancho, was attached to Constable Painting via a long lead. Dog smuggling wasn’t really a major problem in Wales anymore. It had been a major problem until recent times. Year on year the figures would rise, more and more dogs were being brought into the country illegally. The influx of cheap foreign dogs was threatening to flood the market and wash away all trace of the traditional Corgi and Pembrokeshire breeds long favoured by the farmers in Wales.

Then, in an inspired stroke of inspiration, a junior official at the Department for Farmland Security realized that one way to address the problem was simply to ignore it. All records of dog smuggling activity were suddenly ceased. In an instant the issue disappeared and the statistics looked much better. Dog smuggling was no longer a problem. The reason the police maintained a large pool of Dog sniffer dogs was one of finance. To train a dog to detect explosives, weapons or narcotics could take years and cost tens of thousands. To get a dog to detect another dog didn’t cost a penny. To the traveling public a police dog at the airport was a police dog at the airport. Few would bother to consider what the canine may in fact be searching for.

The constable and his dog made a good team. One would distract an unsuspecting passenger while the other would steal bits of food from their plate. They took it in turns.

As Professor Erm waited for the fruit-faced lady to check whether the CIA did indeed serve Beer®, what it may look like, where she may find it and how much she ought to charge, the officer and hound worked their way around the room. Five minutes, half of two sandwiches, a bar of Belgian chocolate and half a plate of Ffreedom Ffryes later they both exited the bar and ambled on towards the disabled toilets. It wasn’t easy having heavy arms and the constable Painting fancied a bit of a sit down.

All of this had occurred in the presence of a single, solitary figure who sat placidly in the middle of the room. He wore a ArmandiTM designer three piece suit. The suit was black with red pinstripes and double breasted sleeves. The formal outfit was completed with a white silk shirt, a red silk tie, cufflinks and a pair of Red leather shoes (Italian, size 9). This was no casual observer. Across the back of his chair he had draped a black trench coat. Next to his right foot was a shiny black plastic briefcase containing a cheese and pickle sandwich, a loaded Colt .45 pistol and several pairs of shiny black plastic briefs.

The figure’s outward appearance was that of a sharp dressed, high flying lawyer.

This was no accident.

A different fruit-faced young lady appeared at the counter. This fresh, fruit-faced girl stared at Professor Erm.

“Beer®?” he prompted.

Somewhere else, a dog barked.