Meanwhile, Lance was in his three bedroom house overlooking the train station. He had just finished his dinner, mackerel. He lived in the nice part of the city unlike his colleague Rupert. He had never visited Ruperts flat before and didn't wish to do so, as he had heard only bad things about the Breckland Estate. Rupert lived on an estate to start with. Then, there was the gangs, drugs, grafitti, and tree buring. Out of all of those, it was the tree buring that scared him most. He carefully chose an elegant black suit; complete with a crisp white shirt and black tie and top hat from his extensive wardrobe. He had always felt that appearance was everything in his line of work, so he was kitted out with only the most expensive suits, shirts and a selections of rather nice looking hats.
It was raining. This always depressed him, because it made his suit glitter with the rain drops. Sir Lance Alotus, did not do glitter. He called for a taxi, even though he could have walked there. It was 7 o'clock and he wasn't going to be late. The taxi drove to a slow halt in front of his house. The taxi driver has previously served Lance before and had ended up being on probabtion for a month. He had approached Lances drive too fast, and had splashed some water onto him shiny shoes and trousers. It was raining of course so it wasn't the drivers fault but Lance had caused an uproar and the matter had been looked into for weeks, before coming to the conclusion that Lance was a stuck up, fussy, old twit.
"Oh, it is you. Again," said Lance without trying to hide the contempt in his voice.
The driver didn't have time for this so he replied "Get in, my mate. There's a storm a-brewing".
"I am so dreadfully sorry, but i think you'll understand why i do not have reason to believe that you are 'my mate'." Lance hadn't forgotten the incident and didn't want to let the driver forget it either.
"Come on, mate. Just get in the cab, son or else." The cab driver was a dignified old man and didn't deserve the treatment he was getting from Lance.
"Would you be threatening me, Sir?"
"No i just meant -" The cabbie didn't have time to finish what he was saying because Lance cut in.
"I, for one, do not take kindly to threats; especially from one who has previously assaulted my person."
"I think it is conceivable that you may be losing a fare this night, Sir. Unless, you find it in the good" (Lance coughed suggestively) "of your heart to apologise"
"You must be joking son!" laughed the cab driver but the smile was soon wiped off his face when he saw that Lance was deadly serious.
"Well, if that's yer attitude, then i don't want yer in me cab. Goodnight Sir". With that, the taxi driver drove off into the night. It was now 7:20 and Lance didn't have time to call another cab as he liked to be fashionably early, as a pose to fashionably late. So, setting off into the fine drizzle, Lance trotted off stubbornly with his nose in the air.
The night was drawing in and the darkness was taking a hold onto the streets of Birmingham. The hotel was practically the midpoint between Lance and Rupert so he would have to walk for about a mile. He walked quickly down the quiet back streets, with the only noises coming from children playing football on the streets. He was a well-known figure around these parts, for all the wrong reasons. All of the people around there knew him as the posh detective that was really up-himself and that no-one liked. I guess that is the only explanation for what happened next.
As he was walking, he spotted a man-hole cover lying on the ground beside the hole. This, in itself, was not unusual. Just kids messing around he thought to himself. The thing that intrigued him was that there was a light shining down from the bottom of it. He bent down, with his backside facing the footballers. He heard giggling from the children and whispers of "Go on, i dare ya!" all around him. A few seconds later, a football connected with his bottom and he fell down the hole. 2 seconds later, you could hear a faint thump as he landed head first at the bottom.