Wildcard

PART TWO - Tuesday, 12th April (i)

St Peter's Square had been buzzing all morning.

Many of Jake's regulars had passed by and called greetings – younger girls singing along as they hurried to work, young men cooing and applauding his cheeky pickpocketing tricks. Older women in noisy stilettos tutted in pity as they dropped coins into his battered biscuit tin, making noises about how life was so unfair.

But they didn't need to feel sorry for him.

They were all slaves to the system, and he was a free spirit – enjoying nature and the elements wherever life's journey took him.

Some political rally dominating the town hall had broken for lunch at one, ensuring a lucrative flow of visitors to his rug. With their expensive aftershave and posh accents, the politicians pontificated about 'levelling up' and the tidal wave of worklessness ... as if they understood the first thing about living in poverty. By two-thirty, all had fallen predictably quiet, but one guy remained, seemingly not on his way anywhere. He hovered, listening to a gentle instrumental.

"Constable Shale," Jake said, eventually recalling who the familiar scent bundle belonged to. "Or is it Detective Constable Shale now?"

Feet shuffled closer. "It's officially Detective Shale as of today."

"Well done!" Jake swapped to strumming a rousing rendition of the classic Congratulations song. "You must feel very proud of yourself. Going out to celebrate?"

"Too b-busy." The officer drew closer still. "So, how did you know it was me?"

Jake strummed a few more notes, then put down his guitar. "Every man has a unique personal signature."

"B-Body odour, you mean?"

There was a sniffing sound, and Jake grinned as he got up and stretched.

"You smell fine," he said, shifting his three-legged wooden stool and rucksack out of the unforgiving heat and into the shade of a nearby building. "It's a combination of all the incidental scents associated with a man's life – lotions, cologne, hair wax, deodorant, laundry powder, conditioner, body spray, medications ..."

"And w-what do you detect in my scent?"

Jake moved his guitar, cane, and tin into the shadowed area, then stood still and tasted the air.

"Sandalwood, vetiver, patchouli, and bergamot ... peanuts, malt, and some citrus notes – grapefruit, not lemon. There's a minuscule essence of tea tree underlying it, too, or maybe it's eucalyptus. Either way, you've not used it in over a week. You don't smoke. You love milk chocolate and expensive whisky. Glenfiddich is your go-to when it's time to unwind, although it's only an occasional treat ... unlike the Snickers bars, which you eat way too many of – if you don't mind me saying."

"Astonishing!" Ryan laughed with a deep and pleasant rumble. "N-Nothing escapes you, does it? The bergamot is from Earl Grey tea, and the eucalyptus was in Olbas Oil. I came down with a cold at Easter, so I put some on my p-p-p ... on my p-p ..."

"Pillow?" Jake offered, rather than listen to the man struggle with getting a difficult word out.

"—on my p-polo shirt to help me breathe."

"Oh, right. Well ... whatever ... it's a refreshingly masculine mix without being overwhelming." Jake picked up the edges of his rug and pulled it into the new location. "You've got a nice healthy aroma, Detective Shale ... unlike my good self."

Ryan was quiet for a few moments. "You don't smell too bad."

"It's my eyes that are blind, Detective – not my nose." Jake grinned as he retook his little seat in the shadows. "The heatwave rolls on, and I've not secured a shower in a week, so I know exactly what I smell like. But I do have a cunning plan."