DaDa Detective Agency Collection

Prologue-4

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.It is a long story and really and truly, you should read the previous five books of Kind Hearts and Martinets, but MI5 needed a low key, apparently benign police unit, to keep an eye on overt and covert matters in Portsmouth, a strategic Naval and Commercial Port on the south coast of Britain. Jack Austin, however, was not a great meat pie (spy), as he was the ugliest, biggest, clumsiest, cockney barrow boy oaf, you are likely to ever meet, but he did have a redeeming capability that allowed his superiors to go along with his raving mad antics - he was a good analyst. He had never been an action man spook. In fact in the proximity of anything bordering on action, he was a definite liability, to the good and the bad guys.

It is a long story and really and truly, you should read the previous five books of Kind Hearts and Martinets, but MI5 needed a low key, apparently benign police unit, to keep an eye on overt and covert matters in Portsmouth, a strategic Naval and Commercial Port on the south coast of Britain. Jack Austin, however, was not a great meat pie (spy), as he was the ugliest, biggest, clumsiest, cockney barrow boy oaf, you are likely to ever meet, but he did have a redeeming capability that allowed his superiors to go along with his raving mad antics - he was a goodanalyst.He had never been an action man spook. In fact in the proximity of anything bordering on action, he was a definite liability, to the good and the bad guys.As a policeman he was often thought to be a “natural”. He somehow or other solved crimes almost out of the blue; demonstrating no logical deductive trail. Amanda now knew he had another completely separate group of completely unlikely cowboy sleuths, who did the solving for him. But, and I say again, he was mustard at the piecing together of disparate information, seeing the big picture, lateral thinking, basically cutting through the crap, most of which was his by the way – so a balance Mandy often thought.

As a policeman he was often thought to be a “natural”. He somehow or other solved crimes almost out of the blue; demonstrating no logical deductive trail. Amanda now knew he had another completely separate group of completely unlikely cowboy sleuths, who did the solving for him. But, and I say again, he was mustard at the piecing together of disparate information, seeing the big picture, lateral thinking, basically cutting through the crap, most of which was his by the way – so a balance Mandy often thought.Following Jack Austin’s serious press conference flouncing, everybody in the know, allowed his tantrum to settle and waited for the natural order of things to be re-established, which, after a fashion and, after nearly eighteen months, it did.

Following Jack Austin’s serious press conference flouncing, everybody in the know, allowed his tantrum to settle and waited for the natural order of things to be re-established, which, after a fashion and, after nearly eighteen months, it did.Jo Jums, Detective Inspector Josephine Wild, was now running Community Policing, but more importantly, she ran the unit for MI5. Jack and Amanda were not so much disappearing into the sunset as acting in a peripheral role that Jack called an Insultant. He meant consultant, but with Jack not all was always what it seemed. He was known as Mr Malacopperism of course and this, combined with his other multitude of inept bumbling idiocies, contributed to his self-styled persona, an enema, by which he meant an enigma, or did he? He was shite at most things, except for the analysis stuff, as I have already mentioned.

Jo Jums, Detective Inspector Josephine Wild, was now running Community Policing, but more importantly, she ran the unit for MI5. Jack and Amanda were not so much disappearing into the sunset as acting in a peripheral role that Jack called an Insultant. He meant consultant, but with Jack not all was always what it seemed. He was known as Mr Malacopperism of course and this, combined with his other multitude of inept bumbling idiocies, contributed to his self-styled persona, an enema, by which he meant an enigma, or did he? He was shite at most things, except for the analysis stuff, as I have already mentioned.

Jack and Amanda bundled in through the front door of their house in Frisian Tun and began stripping each other’s clothes off in the hallway. The passion had the potential to become frenzied, except Amanda had to help him with her buttons and finally her bra strap, but that achieved, the release was dynamite.

Despite the humorous banter I touched upon just now, the s*x life of this mature couple did have its moments. They called their racy s*x, “fizzers”, and, in the hallway and just now, this coupling had all the hallmarks, if you get my drift, of becoming a number one fizzer.

Despite the humorous banter I touched upon just now, the s*x life of this mature couple did have its moments. They called their racy s*x, “fizzers”, and, in the hallway and just now, this coupling had all the hallmarks, if you get my drift, of becoming a number one fizzer.

‘Oh, Jack.’ He’d pushed her to the floor, done all the things he had learned and, most importantly, not yet forgotten, she liked. She fizzed and he was there for her. ‘Oh, oh, ooooh, er, feck, what the feckin’ ‘ell?’

‘s**t, what?’ he said, sensitively responding to an unusual remark from Amanda and checked his bits and pieces for anomalies such as testicular cancer; he liked being tickled but never knew it could give you cancer.

He was also a known hypochondriac.

He was also a known hypochondriac‘I’ve got my bare arse on a rocket launcher and its lumpy and feckin’ freezing.’

He thought she looked gorgeous sitting upon the rather sophisticated weaponry. ‘That’s a Bazooka, babe,’ and he flicked his one eye to the ceiling and back to his bits and pieces.

The unsubtle innuendo was not lost on her, even if she did have a bazooka stuck up her backside. ‘Bazooka?’ She remarked, not casually.

He could tell she was riled and wondered, not for the first time, where the minds of women went? It was after all, only a bazooka.

As I had mentioned before, Jack had a sense for this sort of thing and this is where he was blessed, of course. ‘

As I had mentioned before, Jack had a sense for this sort of thing and this is where he was blessed, of course.

‘Jack what is a f*****g rocket launcher doing in the hall?’

‘First of all…’ he raised his finger to her…

Big mistake, and he was going to need the Papal Blessing they had received in Book 4 - Ghost and Ragman Roll.

Bigmistake, and he was going to need the Papal Blessing they had received in Book 4 - Ghost and Ragman Roll

‘… It’s a bazooka and, to be totally honest wiv you, sweet’art, I’m not sure.’ And to show he was serious, he did Dib, dib, dib and dob, dob with a Benny Hill salute. ‘Maybe Jimbo put it there?’ But his mind had drifted and in a casual movement, she had shifted her derriere away from the bazooka that she was convinced was a rocket launcher, and the passion rebuilt.

Benny Hill‘Jack, should we go upstairs?’ But he was way beyond getting up the stairs and she was catching up fast, when the letter box flapped open.

‘Jack, Mandy, its Jimbo. I left a rocket launcher in the… oh, sorry.’

Mandy let out a scream that Jack thought a little inconsiderate of his possible heart condition, but knew he had to do something to defuse the situation.

‘Jimbo, how nice to see you. Your family they are well?’

It was Jack’s, or should we say Jane’s, Jane Austen Pride and Prejudice, many quotes of which he was famed for misquoting, (he was known as Jack Jane Austin) but he knew instinctively people loved the classics.

It was Jack’s, or should we say Jane’s, Jane Austen Pride and Prejudice, many quotes of which he was famed for misquoting, (he was known as Jack Jane Austin) but he knew instinctively people loved the classics

‘Tolerably well, Jane, thank you.’ Jimbo said through the letter flap, looking like a spook gynaecologist.

From the unborn infant angle, you understand.

From the unborn infant angle, you understand

Jimbo knew Jane well, but then he would, as an MI5 minder. ‘And, it’s a rocket launcher, not a bazooka.’

‘Told yer,’ Mandy had recovered a little of her pith and poise, gathering the remnants of her clothing and starting to wonder if some of it could be repaired. ‘Jimbo, if you could maybe give us a minute, I’ll get dressed and put the kettle on.’

‘That would be lovely. I’ll call Bubba and Abe over. I’ll be honest, and I know its June, but we’re freezing our bollocks off out here in this fog.’

‘Yes, well, I’m about to tear Jack’s bollocks off, so you can all be eunuchs together and then I might get some peace and quiet and, maybe a less testosteroned eejit of a husband and his Mossad, MI5 and CIA mates.’ She looked at Jack, forlorn, naked, apart from his penguin socks. She melted, she knew she would. ‘Get dressed, you eejit, and bring the spy world in from the cold.’

She reflected, that was a catchy rejoinder, when Jack responded in his naturally misguided manner, ‘It’s a bazooka…’ and made a run for it.

He was no fool and, as we had previously mentioned, he knew women.

He was no fool and, as we had previously mentioned, he knew women

CHAPTER 1 - (the Prologue ends and the story is launched or bazooka’d upon an unsuspecting readership). The Journalist

the Prologue ends and the story is launched or bazooka’d upon an unsuspecting readership).

Everard Pimple gingerly picked his way along Frisian Tun. He was aware he was walking gingerly and also picking with his feet, but he couldn’t help it. He had always walked gingerly, but had rarely picked with his lower limbs; this was new, even for an inveterate gentle man. Delicate would be a kind way of describing Everard and his manner and he accorded this supplementary picking to an increased feeling of apprehension, more so than Everard knew as normal, even for him.

The street had a deserted feel, not barren, as many of the characteristics of this characteristically English middle class street, were still evident, if incongruously battle worn; it did feel alien. The loose debris had been cleared, things tidied away, swept under the English reserved carpet, so to speak. The Frisian Tun Big Society, ably assisted by local serfs, pitching in admirably, the British Spirit, but all knowing their place, which was the British way. The people cajoled and corralled, stiffly and stoically by Lady Francesca Blanche-Teapot, the self-styled Duchess of Frisian Tun.

Even so, to Pimple, in his overly susceptible and Bambiesque way, perceived a shadow, a meta-physical presence, a sensation. It seemed to him that in the street there remained a resonance of warfare, machine gun fire, heavy amour, tank tracks clanking and cranking and urban conflict and, this sense titillated his fear buds that were always close to the surface and even more so adjacent to his nether regions.