Part
29
Mr Kurt Cutlery was fascinated by the case before
him. As Ryan continued his mantra, 'I have vital evidence
concerning the black hole information paradox,' the
German physicist attempted to prise more details from
the transfixed prole.
'What
exactly is this evidence?' he asked for the third
time.
Again,
Ryan would not swerve from his new favourite sentence:
'I have vital evidence concerning the black hole information
paradox.'
Kurt
pondered significantly to consider a different line
of inquiry. Perhaps, he thought, the chap has been
overcome by the unstoppable force of an overwhelming
overload of information escaping from some internal
black hole within his mind. Kurt had always believed
that, rather than being composed of point like particles,
the universe actually consisted of minute vibrating
strings, thus negating the idea that no information
is allowed into a black hole. Somehow, he conjectured,
this person standing before him had become the human
equivalent of a black hole and was either about to
spontaneously spout some quantum physical truths relating
to the second law of thermodynamics or had seriously
malfunctioned to the point where he was now able to
impart the information which Stephen Hawking and others
previously thought impossible. Either that or he was
a nutter.
'Can
you elucidate?' asked Kurt, almost shouting.
Whitney,
still aghast at the transformation in her man, spoke
up: 'You leave my Ryan alone. He's no hallucinatin'
at aw. He's aff the eckies and aw that shite. He's
clean.'
'I
beg your pardon, madam,' said Kurt. 'I was merely
trying to extract more information…'
'Aye,
well enough of yer extractin'. He's done nuthin' wrang.
It's ma bairn who's trommitised.' She pointed at the
hapless Shadney who sat dumbfounded within the buggy
in a world of her own glaikitness.
Kurt
pondered the creature for a second, convinced it was
some monstrous hybrid related in some way to both
homosapiens and poultry.
Suddenly,
Ryan snapped out of his trance and, extending his
lower jaw as far as it could go without extending
wider like a snake's, yelled directly at Kurt, almost
covering his face with his mouth:
'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!'
The
occupants of the Leith police station reception area
to a man, woman and child, all but lifted two inches
off the ground. Across the other side of the world,
a butterfly refrained from flapping its wings, reckoning
this momentous disturbance in the planet's equilibrium
was enough for one afternoon.
Recovering
quickly from the sheer blast of halitosis accompanying
the gust which actually blew strands of his hair back,
Kurt peered fascinated into Ryan's cavernous orifice,
dripping baccy brown saliva from the tartar encrusted
stalactites that constituted his crooked, rotting
teeth. A slight scent of sick also hung in the mix
- the after effect of one White Lightning too many
the night before.
'What
appears to be the trouble?' spluttered out the physicist
whilst heroically controlling his gagging reflex.
'My
head's itchy,' said Ryan.
Kurt
paused for a while, thinking of offering the obvious
advice to scratch it, before Ryan added:
'Inside.'
Next
week: Love Me Tendrils
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