Episode something or other

Subtitle: Something Nasty in the Woodshed

As described in the last cliffhanging episode (despite the distinct lack of geological features in the locality) I found myself at the mercy of a hidden gunman (or woman – the criminal underworld is an equal opportunities employer these days you know) in the potting shed of the local park. Wayne/Bry, my (no-longer) anonymous source, was in there with me, which could have caused irreparable damage to someone of my upstanding reputation, had it not been the early hours of the morning and had I not managed to fashion us a moveable (and more importantly, bulletproof) shelter, McGyver-style, from some left over bits and bobs. (Just for future reference, and so that the inevitable TV-movie is factually accurate, the bits and bobs were, some plastic sheeting, a small Black and Decker Strimmer, some discarded wellies, some broken terracotta plantpots and some privet for camouflage purposes.)

We crept out of the shed and edged our way carefully along the very edges of the children’s playground, the swings creaking mournfully in the early morning breeze. After all my careful preparations, it appeared that the mystery gun-person had disappeared, but we were taking no chances. It did take some time for us to shuffle our way to the relative safety of the outside porch where Tarquin, visibly concerned, was waiting for us.

I effected cursory introductions, not knowing all that much about Wayne/Bry, and I have to admit, with a frisson of illicit pleasure, that it took several minutes of soothing (and the promise of an intimate dinner for the two of us) for Tarquin to calm himself down and bring out the cocoa he’d been simmering whilst waiting for me to arrive home.

Wayne/Bry – whose real name was Albert Simmons, and who worked in the local post office (and obviously had a penchant for dressing up) – was still extremely nervy, but revealed to us that The Sons of Thrower had put out a contract on myself and Tarquin. It appeared that we were on the right track and getting dangerously close to finding out what was going on, all of which came as a bit of a surprise to me. Albert then revealed that they were planning some kind of surprise attack at the local carnival which was due to take place in two weeks time. Then came the shock revelation that Mr Loomis, our erstwhile client, was also a Son of Thrower, something he’d kept very quiet during all our consultations. It was clear that we had our work cut out for us during the next fortnight.

At this point, Albert suddenly remembered a pressing appointment with his tailor and with a carefree wave, he stepped out of our door, only to be mown down by an out-of-control Robin Reliant. We rushed him to the local hospital, but we were too late, he would never be able to wear plus-fours again. As you can imagine, he was devastated, but you’ll all be glad to know that he did make a partial recovery and is currently appearing in cabaret on a cruise ship sailing between Hull and Tromso.

All this was fairly shocking stuff, even for a hardened PI like myself, but we had no time to lose. We decided that the best course of action was to prepare ourselves for the carnival dance competition (freestyle, of course) so there followed several all-night stints at Mondo Bizarro, where Tarquin and I tangoed, merengued and waltzed our way to exhaustion, followed by a flurry of sewing, pinning, embellishing and preening, until at last, we were ready to face the competition, resplendent in our hand-crafted costumes – a peach coloured evening suit for young Tarquin, featuring some constrasting sage-green piping and cummerbund, and a tangerine gown for myself, with added ruby sequins in the shape of the M25.

And just what happened after that, will be revealed in the next thrilling episode…