DaDa Detective Agency Collection

Prologue-3

‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ See, Keef did not read Brain’s body language or tone of voice, but Brains knew it didn’t pay to question Keef.

I suppose you learned things like this early on, when you decide to become a bozo baddie hoping to get a black hat.

I suppose you learned things like this early on, when you decide to become a bozo baddie hoping to get a black hatHowever, the way had been indicated and everybody piled in through the lid. Keef, then Shitlegs, as he was second in command, Brains and the two other cronies Gerald and Simon followed.

‘Kin ‘ell there’s no bloody winders (windows), turn the lights on,’ Keef ordered.

windows‘It’s a f*****g tank, they don’t ‘ave no winders…’ Brains noticed the circumspect look of his leader in response to his animated reaction and muttered, in a pleading defence, ‘… it’s a f*****g tank?’ Brains demonstrating not only exasperation, but the cerebral ability that had earned him his half a GCSE and had his teachers scratching their head…

Not their bottoms – teachers don’t do this, at least not in the classroom. …wondering if they should submit him for English Literature; they had of course

Not their bottoms – teachers don’t do this, at least not in the classroom.spotted his library card, but failed to notice the inscription indicating membership of the children’s library and, in particular, the picture book section.

Never let it be said that Keef did not catch on fast. He flicked Brains on the nose with his thumb and forefinger and set about looking for the light switch, some bullets and a steering wheel. ‘Brains, you look for the bullets. Gerald, the lights for Christ’s sake. Simon, steering wheel please and Shitlegs, you look for the front windscreen. Which way is front? They should ‘ave ad bleedin’ winders. Put the f*****g lights on.’

Brains derred, switched on the lights and pointed. ‘This ‘andle is for steering, these shells are the bullets and, someone looks out of the lid and shouts down turning instructions to the driver.’ He tapped his fingers on the stick that was the steering wheel, and applied a rather risqué grin, which in theory was appropriate as the D day landings were to be in France, where of course, it would be tres risqué, as there would have been a lot of Germans not having a lie-in, despite it being their plan.

tres risquéKeef pondered and, not for the first time, wished he had not decided to rob the local library because Simon thought they would have a load of late return fine money and, it would all be sausage and mash! (Cash) It was on that robbery, which incidentally only netted them 75p, they met Brains. Keef should have known that an eighteen year old, spot ridden, beanpole youth, reading Enid Blyton’s, Noddy, was not necessarily a good sign, even though he could read without following the words with his index finger; quite novel (not the book) where Keef came from. However, as it turned out, Brains knew where the Library back door was, had a bike and could give Keef a getaway crossbar. Shitlegs, Simon and Gerald were nicked and would have been in serious trouble if the police had not let them go because they were laughing so much and did not know how to write up the crime of the century.

CashEnid Blyton’s, Noddynot the book‘Well, sort it then.’

There, you see, Keef commanded

Jack and Amanda Austin – DaDa.

‘Oh, Jack’

‘Oh, Amanda,’ his hand was rummaging around her bottom parts. ‘You farted?’

‘Oh, Jack, I love it when you talk dirty.’ Jack thought for a while, which involved stopping as he was not a famed multitasker. ‘What is it? Jack, please, come on. I want to get home and f**k your brains out.’ She did titter at her remark, the intimation being he had brains. She wondered if he had no brains left because she liked making love to him and did love him, even if this came with very early morning strolls along the seafront in pea-souper fogs. ‘How did you know I’d farted?’

He’d started walking again and the cloud of passion, as thick as the fog and, some might say, uncharitably, as thick as Jack Austin, overcame his enema moment (he meant enigma, of course). ‘I smelled rose petals.’

he meant enigma, of course‘Rose petals?’

Jack may have been in that state of euphoric oblivion he seemed able to summon at a moment’s notice, a particularly masculine skill Mandy had commented once, but he was nobody’s fool where women were concerned. Of course, most women would see this as his most serious failing but, as I have just mentioned, if confronted by the blindingly obvious, especially by a blindingly attractive woman like Amanda, then Jack could summon up his oblivion - just like that. He knew women. He understood women, to the extent to where he would often remark, even to women, (see what I mean) he was blessed. It should be noted that frequently after such discourse with a woman, he would ordinarily adopt a trance like state, which rendered him immune to stares and even the most vitriolic of reposts. It was a master class in denial, the core faith of his C of E (Church of Egypt) faith, De Nile.

see what I meanHe knew women liked a laugh and sometimes he had to filter out the irrelevant stuff and, as far as women farting was concerned, he just knew it smelled of rose petals, even after Amanda had eaten a Brahma of a curry. The reason was, you see, he loved this woman with a passion and he was no fool, of course, he thought, ignoring what anyone else thought.

De-Nile. You see how it works.

De-Nile. You see how it worksIt helped that frequently his nose was bogey stuffed and, as he rarely thought of exchanging his filthy handkerchief with a freshly laundered cloth and, Amanda had banned all public displays of a rag that defied all feminine description, it was sadly thus that a handkerchief was seldom employed in the presence of Amanda.

Such was her life and this included that the man she loved beyond all rational reason, as people had tried to reason with her, was not only ugly but also as deaf as a post. He would not wear hearing aids as he thought they would make him look daft and he couldn’t see the irony in that either, though he did do the ironing at home. His dad had been a marine and had taught his son to do things like ironing, but most importantly, he cared for and doted on his relatively new wife and, she liked this about him.

Jack loved Amanda. She had lifted him from the depths of sorrow as he mourned the accidental death of his first wife, Kate. After about three years of entrenched grief, Mandy had managed to show him there was a second chance at life and even a s*x life that at sixty, he was enjoying probably more than he had ever done. Of course, he knew he brought to the marriage bed, or even out of it, a great deal of skill, experience, and understanding, as ably demonstrated just now with his expert knowledge of the womanly passing of wind, in so much as he could identify clearly the gentle petal like characteristics. He was, he often imagined, the David Attenborough of the famine world.

He may mean feminine.

He may mean feminineAmanda, though, thought he was just a lovely man who frequently got his words wrong, known as he had been in the police as Mr Malacopperism, amongst many other quite apt epithets. He was a kind and gentle man and the s*x was passionate, if a tad inexpert, improving all the time she thought and had potential, though she frequently wondered if she would live long enough? But, there was no doubt in her mind, this man loved her and, was enthusiastic.

Despite the tip off from the CIA, their walk back from the seafront and Southsea Common was one of barely pent up passion. The sensual stroking that Amanda applied to Jack’s intimate regions, to which Jack reciprocated with a fundamentally juvenile groping, all contributed to a joint s****l oblivion, though Mandy, ever practical, guided their route home. The thought their lives could be under threat at anytime that coming day was not paramount, not on their immediate itinerary.

Amanda was Detective Superintendent Amanda Bruce, now Mrs Austin, because she had married Detective Chief Inspector Jack (nicknamed Jane) Austin, retired? Retired, who knew? It paid not to dwell on matters that affected ordinary people, as Jack was extraordinary and, if you asked him, he would confirm this for you. Jack Austin was generally thought to have retired, though nobody truthfully had the nerve to ask him if this was a permanent state of affairs. He had flounced out of a news conference one day, after a particularly nasty case, saying, “He’d had enough of this shite” and sort of gone off into the sunset. And then, last Christmas, he’d declared he wanted to retire with his wife and sealed this pact with an eternity ring, after which, he announced she would henceforth be known as Duck and he wished to be called d**k, as he had formed the d**k and Duck Austin, Detective Agency; DaDa.

He popped into the police station every now and then and, every now and then, thought about nicking someone in a consultant sort of way, but that was about as far as it went. However, that was now, and, this is then.

This is a flashback of course, and all will become obvious when we reach the, then, bit, or is it the now bit?

This is a flashback of course, and all will become obvious when we reach the, then, bit, or is it the now bit?Still, the formerly tough and totally in control Superintendent, known as Mandy Pumps or Mandy Lifeboats, had well and truly succumbed to the juvenile antics of her now husband. As she had become a part of his life and had insisted on knowing everything about him, which apart from being a spy, was pretty much nothing. Therefore, as a consequence of their marriage, she also became a member of MI5 and a part of Jack Austin’s discreet group of monkey spanner meat pies (spies) that resided in and around the Community Policing department in Portsmouth.

spies

Even if he had retired, not that this is confirming anything officially, as you wouldn’t believe the crap I had (so Sue Narmee says it) just because Martin, Jack’s dog, got hurt in a fight in book one. And now, Martin had half his front leg amputated in book 5, the finale of Kind Hearts and Martinets, so it’s definite schtum on the retirement angle until we understand just how much Jack Austin is loved by his readership and, how the DADA Agency goes down.

Even if he had retired, not that this is confirming anything officially, as you wouldn’t believe the crap I had (so Sue Narmee says it) just because Martin, Jack’s dog, got hurt in a fight in book one. And now, Martin had half his front leg amputated in book 5, the finale of Kind Hearts and Martinets, so it’s definite schtum on the retirement angle until we understand just how much Jack Austin is loved by his readership and, how the DADA Agency goes down.I have it on good authority he is resentful of his dog for grabbing all of his limelight. So, it might be reasonable for us to expect some sort of reaction, to redress the balance as he would see it, except he didn’t like Lime and asked for some other colour light, maybe lemon, but definitely not orange; he hated orange, it drained the colour from his face.