DaDa Detective Agency Collection

Prologue-1

Definition: Apocalypse – A prophetic revelation, especially concerning a cataclysm in which the forces of good triumph over the forces of evil.

A prophetic revelation, especially concerning a cataclysm in which the forces of good triumph over the forces of evil.It is not, as many believe, a pottie, portable infants toilet that collapses if a fat ugly retired copper sits on it. This is serious and, actually happened, mainly because a fat ugly retired copper got hold of a bazooka. A bazooka used to be bubble gum but, in the wrong mouth, say for instance, a Malacopperism plagued, fat ugly retired copper, the results can be, were, and still are, devastating, fatal even.

Definition: Idyll – A mental mechanism, operating consciously or unconsciously, in which a person or persons, or a Duchess, overestimates an admired attribute.

A mental mechanism, operating consciously or unconsciously, in which a person or persons, or a Duchess, overestimates an admired attribute.This can be attributed to many British upper middle-class individuals who, in their innate ignorance and air of self-importance, perceive their manor to be better than the average chocolate box picture of an urban or suburban haven. Frisian Tun was such an idyll (prior to the apocalypse). It was an idealistic residential, village (said with a French accent) and has / had, a picturesque (said with an English accent) cosy appearance. Apart, that is, the house of a cockney barrow boy police inspector, who could not grasp the basics of gardening or decorous conversing. Nor could he comprehend why snooty people didn’t laugh at his hilarious jokes? And, “to make an omelette you have to break several things, not just eggs”. He would say, so you knew the destruction of an Idyll was not his fault.

wasvillage

Before and After – What follows is before, and then, afterwards, is after. Not afters, as that would be a dessert, say, apple crumble and custard. Suffice to say this is a scary story when you get to the after bits, especially if the custard has gone cold. You, the innocent reader, will be lured into a sense of a secure world of haute-monde and geography and, when you are least aware – Bam!

Warning – What was lovely, could turn ugly. Not Jack Jane d**k Austin, because he was already ugly. However, his wife, Mandy, Duck, Austin, well, she was lovely but, could turn ugly even when d**k had done absolutely nothing wrong, like say, blow up an idyll, kill some gangsters an s**t…

The Narrator

‘Der Day, 6th Ju… what?’

‘Der Day? I think you mean D day, as in Dee?’ a megaphone voice from out of the darkness.

‘Der Day? I think you mean D day, as in Dee?‘That’s what I said Diddli?’ … thinks… ‘So, it’s not Der then?’

‘No - Start again.’

‘No - Start again.’Jack started again, ‘Dee Day, 14th June 2014 and it is the 70th anniversary of Operation Lie-in, from the… what now?’

‘Sea Lion.’

‘Sea Lion.’‘Where?’ a shared titter.

‘It’s Operation Sea Lion? Or was that the planned German invasion of England?’ another detached mumbled voice.

‘It’s Operation Sea Lion? Or was that the planned German invasion of England?.A megaphone shout – ‘Start again!’

– ‘Start again!’‘What?’

‘Did you seriously not hear that?’ Mandy asked.

‘Hearing aids?’

‘Hearing aids.’

‘Start again?’

‘Start again.’

‘Start again.’‘Dee Day, 6th June 2014 and it is the 70th anniversary of… what now?’

‘We’ve looked it up and it’s Operation Overlord.’

We’ve looked it up and it’s Operation Overlord.’‘Start again?’

‘Start again.’

‘Start again.’‘Dee Day, 6th June 2014 and it was the 70th anniversary of Operation Overlord and my brother’s birthday, he will be, what, fifty seven, now – shite!’

‘What?’

‘What?’‘I forgot to send him a card.’

‘Cut!’

‘Cut!’‘Cut what?’

‘He means stop for the time being,’ Mandy explained to her Dipstick.

‘I could do with a girl grey. Monkey tea for you, sweet’art?’ Sweet’art nodded yes, she liked his decision making abilities. ‘We’ll have a girl grey, no milk or poncy lemon and a monkey tea, please, no sugars – there you go; spit spot.’ Pause. ‘Nothing seems to be ‘appening? Anyfing ‘appening?’

‘Let’s go home. Get your hand off my bum.’

He took his hand off.

‘I was joking, dinlo.’

He put it back. She liked the feel of his hands on her bum, although he was most definitely a Dinlo and, when he undressed her, he was like a kid unwrapping a Christmas present. Still, she loved the twerp.

‘Who said that?’

‘Who said that?’‘Me’

‘Can you do the narration – what’s your name?’

‘Can you do the narration – what’s your name?’‘Susan Narmee… I suppose. Yeah, I can.’

‘Right Sue – let’s start again.’

‘Right Sue – let’s start again.’So Sue started, ‘Dee Day, 6th June 2014 and it is the 70th anniversary of Operation Gaylord… what? Was that okay?’

‘Yeah – the editor can pick that bit up,’ resignation.

‘Yeah – the editor can pick that bit up,’ ‘It was not a particularly audacious start… what?’

‘Auspicious, it’s auspicious – carry on.’

‘Auspicious, it’s auspicious – carry on.’‘Don’t you talk to me like that!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry.’‘Carry on?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’‘Do I detect a note of exasperation?’

‘Yeeeeeeeah,’ a distinct sound of air expelling as if squeezed through the neck of a balloon.

‘Yeeeeeeeah,’ ‘Exasperation, most certainly it was,’ Ms Narmee replied, in the manner of Yodel.

‘Yodah!’

‘Yodah!’‘That’s what I said diddli?’

Can you narrate in italics please?

italicsYes.

Yes.

The Banana Boys.

The week running up to Friday’s planned celebrations had been blessed with remarkable weather, or so people remarked. They also remarked upon a marked contrast to the days that ran up to the original D Day, which this Friday’s celebrations were to mark. However, if the weather had anything to do with it, this Friday, the day of The Dee Day, the seventieth anniversary, would get only four out of ten, which, is not a very good mark.

DeeA dense sea mist shrouded Southsea Common, an expansive grassed tract of land that fronted the ancient fortified seafront of Portsmouth in the UK. The lumps of World War Two machinery, weapons, materiel and paraphernalia and, the tents accommodating Muppets, who spent their weekends playing toy soldiers in ill fitting Dad’s Army uniforms, were lined up in a regimented military fashion. The exhibition had been regimentally laid out by Reginald Menthe, Portsmouth City Council’s head of setting out lumps. He’d had a lot of experience with lumps. Reg’s wife, Mrs Menthe, whom, in their more intimate moments he called “Sugar”, was a lump, and in the fog, the result of Reg’s regimentation of paraphernalia and, Mrs. Sugar one might add, was, well, grey lumps.

Dad’s ArmyI imagine those who do not know Mrs Sugar Menthe have already conjured a picture, but if you are struggling, bring to mind the vintage saucy seaside picture postcards with the blushing, generously proportioned, battle axe woman. There, got it – well she was like that. If you haven’t got it, never mind, because she’s not in this book, even though this book, in parts, several actually, is certainly saucy.

Keef Bananas (not his real name as that was Keith) looked on and sighed to his number two, Dave Lillicrap. He was number two because his name was Dave Lillicrap, also known as Shitlegs. Rather apt, those with a modicum of astuteness thought, though he was in actual fact and in reality, really and truly, the second in command of this South London delinquent gang, who up until very recently had been on the Lamb.

This is not a pun on mint saucy, though one might be forgiven for thinking this. On the lamb is an Americanism that roughly translated means, on the run, or in criminal parlance, lying low, hiding from the filf as they had been very naughty boys – see the book: Merde and Mandarins.

This is not a pun on mint saucy, though one might be forgiven for thinking thisOn the lamb is an Americanism that roughly translated means, on the run, or in criminal parlance, lying low, hiding from the filf as they had been very naughty boys – see the book: Merde and Mandarins

Apart from his name, Shitlegs was an unremarkable man and truthfully, not ideal material for command and decision making, on this day of marking and remarking the letter Dee. Keef gave him the same mark as the weather, four out of ten, or D out of A to E, which for a second in command was not saying much about the rest of his chums. All things considered, giving this weather of dense fog four out of ten, when it was nigh on impossible to see your hand in front of your face, did not say much for the leader either, though we have to allow, considering it was the intention of Keef and his chums to purloin a Sherman tank, that the cloaking effect of the weather may have been considered a bonus by Mr Bananas.

Dee‘Oi, stop there…’

‘What?’

‘What?’‘I’m not a chum.’

‘What?’

‘What?’‘A chum. I’m not a chum. We are not chums. Keef may have a Duchess for an aunt but I’m not Uncle Josh.’ And Shitlegs looked around and elicited support from his other, for want of a better word at the moment, chums, and they enjoined their second in command enthusiastically, as you would expect from chums, supporting another chum.

chumschums,chum‘What are you then?’

‘What are you then?’They gathered their heads and discussed a subject that had never arisen before and, after a short while settled on something other than the election of Shitlegs as unofficial spokesman; he was second in command thus his presumed right. Shitlegs turned, because this is what you do in stories, you turn. ‘Cronies,’ he said, turning back again. They looked at each other in turn, except for Keef who had his head in the mist in exasperation, coincidentally, and also coincidentally, he was tall, straight backed and slim and always held his head high, except when he was ducking. His aunt had told him he was aristocatty and he believed he was.

It was agreed. ‘Yeah, we’re cronies and Keef is aristo-fingy.’

‘Good, can we get on?’

‘Good, can we get on?’The cronies gathered their collective hideous, crony heads, which matched their hideous appearance and discussed the matter. They’d never been asked if they could carry on before, ordinarily by this time they would have been arrested and be on their way to a lovely warm police cell. They were on the lamb until quite recently, as they had only just escaped a capture at a local saw mill and later, a shoot-out beside a Dorset Cottage in the snow. So, you see, the mist was having some beneficial effect in occluding the reappearance of the Banana gang in Southsea, which is likely why Keef gave it four out of ten, this weather being particularly good if you were on the lamb, or intent on stealing some heavy armour.

Having appeared to agree on something, Shitlegs, spokes-thug, replied, ‘Yeah – alright then.’

‘Carry on,’ a loudhailer.

‘Carry on,’ ‘Who said that?’ Shitlegs asked nobody, as he could see nobody. He could see nothing, except his hand, which was just in front of his face.