Written by Auntie Matter

Monday, 11 July 2016

image for Inquest into Disappearance of London Taxicab Passenger
A Bridge Too Far for Fintan

LONDON: An in-cab surveillance video has been leaked on the internet prior to the Scotland Yard investigation of its driver Fintan Murphy in London.

Murphy is suspected in the disappearance of his middle-aged passenger Julian Forsyth Davidson-Clarke 11 who was last seen being being dragged out of his cab in the early hours of Sunday morning. According to eyewitnesses Julian spent all night at The Freemasons' Hall that he had booked for a private celebration with his showbusiness friends.

Top model Fanny Lustworthy told U-R-FKD magazine:

"Julian was in high spirits. Why wouldn't he be? His horse had just won him nearly five million that afternoon at Ascot. We were all there to cheer it on, of course. Many of us had backed it a eight to one. He often gives us tips. They don't always win ... of course, but most do. Julian was throwing thousands to the waiters, of course. All the girls loved him. In fact, I would say he had slept with them all at one time or another... except me... of course."

Mr. Davidson-Clarke was a powerful defamation lawyer who had been working on a High Court injunction to prevent the public release of the Panama Papers that implicate the rich and famous in shady off-shore dealings. Some say he had been asked to do so by more than a few of his clients. Julian had represented many famous stars including Brad Pitt, Bill Clinton, Christopher Little, Hillary Clinton and Angelina Jolie.

He had successfully sued for defamation some seventy-five journalists, newspaper editors and writers on behalf of his most illustrious client, the renowned philanthropist and author, J.K. Rowling. At the time of his disappearance he had been at work on a multi-million pounds defamation suit against the British government on behalf of ex-PM Tony Blair. Blair had been guest of honour at his celebration.

In the footage, we see Julian, a plump figure with a round, red face and dyed blond hair swaying on the back seat as he is driven through the rainswept streets of London. The driver seems irritable and absentminded. It's as if he is waiting for his client to throw up, the constant dread of most taxi drivers who pick up late night revellers. Here is a transcript of the actual conversation.

F: Yer all covered in lipstick. Wasn't easy getting you into the cab with all dem beautiful ladies pawing at your, Sir.

J: Bitches! Am I suppose to thank you, Paddy?

F: Naw... just saying.

J: You married?

F: Was... until recently. Me wife left me... took everything. We were married for thirty years, first woman I met in fact. Ran off with some young buck who owns an ornaments factory in Inverness. She lied to me that as she was visiting a sick friend in Scotland... a nun... Sister MacTavish. I'm sleeping in a bus shelter until they find me somewhere.

J: Loser. My pooch is better off than you. "Whorus" dines on champagne... and pheasant. You see this watch I am wearing, Paddy?

F: Yessir.

J: I could buy this cab and pay your wages for a fucking year with what this watch costs. (Pause. Nothing is heard for a while but the windscreen wipers). Boris Johnson... now that's what I call a real man! (Pause). Fucking immigrants! You been here long?

F: Been driving taxis around London for twenty seven years. Know every street, alleyway, park... and recycling plant.

J: Have they no taxis in Ireland?

F (quietly): Fat arsehole.

J: What?

F: Not far to go... Sir. Here's the bridge.

J: I have three Lautrecs and seven Modiglianis in my dining room. Every month that passes they rocket in value by a hundred grand or more. My horse "Blair Maligned" won the Diamond fucking Stakes at Ascot. It is worth forty million at stud. It is not a fair world, is it Paddy?

F: You could say that, Sir. (Pause). Just crossed the bridge Sir. Last turn.

J: I'll let you into a secret Paddy. It's all about mind control.

F: Imagine that, Sir.

J: Just leave me at the gates of the mansion. My butler will pick me up.

F: That'll be nine pounds and fifty pee.

J: Nine?.. Nine fifty! Do I look like a fucking idiot!?

Here the conversation ends. The video next shows the back door of the cab being almost wrenched off its hinges as Mr. Davidson-Clarke is hauled out.

Police are still searching for his body. Anyone with information please contact Scotland Yard; or The Freemasons' Hall, Great Queen St. London.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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