The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series) by Cyrus Chainey Page A

find out now, sir. Just putting the details through.’
    His radio crackled and I listened as the distended voice announced to my horror that Betsy was road legal, but I wasn’t her registered owner. No one was. The officer looked as puzzled as I was. He was holding my logbook with my name on it.
    ‘ That’s odd.’ The officer said looking at me. ‘Can I get a check on the driver, a Mr Kenino Wolf?’ He called back into his radio.
    ‘ How long have you had the vehicle sir?’ He was being comforting. He could see my horror.
    ‘ Years. Bloody years.’ I was shaking.
    ‘ Don’t worry, sir. The DVLA must have made a mistake. Shouldn’t take long to sort it out.’ He was still doing the non-comforting comfort talk.
    The radio crackled back into life. I didn’t know who was on the other end but I hated them more than anyone I’d ever known. The officer responded and to my horror the voice announced that I didn’t have a driving licence.
    ‘ What?’ I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. Neither could the officer.
    ‘ Are you sure?’ The officer called back through. ‘Can I get a double check on the name. Kenino … Kilo, India, November, India, November, Oscar. Wolf ... Whiskey, Oscar, Lima, Foxtrot.’
    ‘ Confirmed.’ The radio crackled back. ‘No such driver.’
    He looked at me while holding my licence. I was dumbstruck. Not only did I not own Betsy, but now I had no right to be in her.
    ‘ I’m holding his licence,’ he called back.
    ‘ DVLA problem,’ the heartless voice responded.
    ‘ Received.’
    ‘ What’s going on?’ I pleaded.
    ‘ It would appear, sir, that the DVLA have lost you.’
    ‘ What? How?’
    ‘ It happens, sir. Computer problems. Don’t worry. A quick visit to the DVLA should fix it. Just take your papers down and they’ll sort it all out for you.’ He handed back my papers.
    ‘ I don’t understand. How they could have lost me?’
    ‘ Between you and me, sir, they’re not the most efficient branch of government.’
    ‘ I’m going there now.’ I said opening Betsy’s door. ‘Where’s the nearest one?’
    ‘ Wimbledon, sir, but I suggest you don’t drive.’
    ‘ What?’
    ‘ Right now, sir, as it stands this car is correctly parked, but you do not have a valid licence. If you try and drive you will be breaking the law.’
    ‘ But I do have a licence.’ I was waving the pink card at him.
    ‘ Not according to the DVLA, sir.’ He was being apologetic. ‘If you try and move the vehicle one of my colleagues may arrest you and crush the car.’
    ‘ Are you winding me up? I’ve got a licence. You can see my licence.’ I was still waving it.
    ‘ Yes, sir. But the system says you don’t and until it says you do, you are an illegal driver. But don’t worry, bring all your paper work to Wimbledon and they’ll sort it out for you.’
    ‘ How am I supposed to get there?’
    ‘ That’s your choice, sir. But you cannot drive.’ With that he continued along his beat leaving me holding a hand full of paperwork and car keys for a car that I could no longer drive.
    ‘ Bollocks to this! Wait here. I’ll be back,’ I said to Betsy and stomped off towards East Dulwich Station.
    This was not part of my plan. I gave Tabatha a call. The officer said Betsy was safe where she was parked but I wasn’t taking any chances. I told her what had happened and she thought it was extremely funny, until I mentioned how it was buggering up our little diamond adventure, at which she became a lot more helpful.
    I kept a spare set of keys with my Uncle Clement. I told her to get the keys, rescue Betsy and park her in Leon’s yard, which was private land. There Betsy would be safe.
    The DVLA’s office in Wimbledon was a rather attractive red-brick affair with a grey awning. It was on the Alexandra Road. I took a ticket and joined the queue and got comfy. It was always an all-day adventure dealing with the government. Tabatha phoned after an hour saying she’d rescued