Guess what?! It’s another episode! (Sleazy does it)

Previously, on Kats PI - *jumbled montage of images, including various swoon inducing shots of the Gaylords* - our heroes were trapped inside a van (a Ford Transit if you must know) and being menaced by the Giant Lobster of Doom, after a narrow escape from Obadiah Sleaze, who’s looking more shifty by the second. Read on, gentlefolk, to learn their fate.

After trying unsuccessfully to locate the slightly annoying man doing the voiceover, I decided it was time for action. I delved into the toolbox which I conveniently found just underneath Tarquin’s seat. I nabbed the biggest pair of pliers I could find, which caused an inordinate amount of wincing from most of the boys (Jonathan seemed deceptively calm, though I later found out that was down to the secret hip flask). Taking a large can of hairspray and a lighter from my all-purpose detective satchel, I moved quietly towards the back door, or where it would have been, had it not been thrown into the middle of the road. The giant claw hung, motionless, as an all too familiar face suddenly appeared.

‘Angela Rippon?!’. I gasped, hardly daring to believe my eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

She chuckled throatily, whilst twirling an antique pistol on her right forefinger. ‘Oh, I’m part of the Sons of Thrower now. It’s the latest trend, you know.’

‘But… but… you’re an icon to millions! How could you?’

‘Pah!’ she scoffed. ‘Icon, you say? How much of an icon do you think I’ll be after 10 more years of Car Booty and Cash in the Attic? They just put me out to grass, not daring to get rid of me, because they knew it would cause an uproar. Well, I’ll show them. When we get our hands on-‘

‘QUIET!’ bellowed Obadiah Sleaze, who’d managed to change into what looked like a costume from Starlight Express, complete with roller skates. ‘We don’t want this troublesome creature guessing our entire plan, you foolish woman! Go and sort out the Lobster, he’ll need feeding.’

Angela scurried away, dragging the giant beast behind her. Sleaze then turned to me. ‘You, my dear, need to come with me.’

‘Of course. You’re going to make me do that, how, exactly?’

At a click of his fingers, the surrounding hedgerows turned dark with black jumpsuit wearing men, all of whom were holding very big guns.

‘Fair enough,’ I sighed. ‘What do you have in store for us, you… you… git!?’

‘Flattery will get you nowhere, lovely lady, but I have a special treat in store for you. Number One has indicated that I get to ‘deal’ with you however I see fit.’

‘So, does that make you a Number Two?’ I enquired.

The sound of gentle sniggering was silenced as Sleaze glared at us. ‘You’ll suffer for that. I don’t take kindly to mockery.’

'I find that hard to believe, wearing a costume like that!' I scoffed.

He grunted menacingly, grabbed my arm roughly and was about to drag me off to one of the many sinister black vans scattered liberally around the countryside, when he found himself stuck in front of a wall of Gaylord.

Tarquin prised his fingers from my arm and gently led me aside. There was nothing more that could be done, as a thousand safety catches suddenly clicked off. We allowed ourselves to be shepherded towards a van and shoved inside. The door was slammed shut, locked, bolted, padlocked and welded shut (which even I thought was a tad excessive) and off we sped into the evening.

We bounced along the narrow country lanes for what seemed like an eternity. None of us were particularly talkative, events having overtaken us somewhat. Tarquin was not particularly impressed with my show of bravado against the giant lobster, being unconvinced about my explanation of what I intended to do (singe it with the hairspray/lighter combo then threaten it with pliers whilst shouting 'Thermidor!' at the top of my voice).

'A brave plan, my dear girl,' said Jonathan. 'I have a feeling we'll all need your resourcefulness in the coming hours...'

At this ominous statement, we all again fell silent. Shortly afterwards, the van ground to a halt. Some time after that we were led out of the van (once the door had been cut open with the aid of an oxy-acetylene torch) and into the grounds of an old ruined castle.

Sleaze sauntered towards us, looking particularly smug. He'd changed his clothes since we'd last seen him and was now wearing full evening dress, with enough sequins to put Liberace to shame.

I could barely contain my glee, despite our current predicament, and snorted in a most unladylike manner.

'Something amuses you, my dear?' he hissed, menacingly.

'Not really, Sleaze. Though you might want to stop waving your arms about in such a theatrical fashion. You'll give people ideas.'

At this, he raised arm to beckon several of his goons, who escorted us towards a crude altar, fashioned from three large stones. Around the altar was a semicircle of people, all wearing sparkly green robes. I glanced at Jonathan, who appeared to be catatonic. 'What the hell is he doing?' I grunted at the nearest Gaylord, who just happened to be Godfrey.

'I really couldn't say, but he does appear to be emitting a low hum. Perhaps he's meditating?'

'Great timing, I must say. We're about to be the sacrifice de jour and he's meditating?! I had rather hoped that he might be working on a plan to get us out of here.'

'Oh but I am, m'dear,' muttered Jonathan. 'Just watch...'

He kept humming, louder and louder. To my astonishment, the Eye of Brize Norton began to glow with a reddish light. As Jonathan's humming grew still louder, it became almost incandescent. Suddenly Jonathan yanked it from its chain and threw it to the ground, where it smashed with a huge explosion. Our guards were momentarily stunned, which gave us just enough time to break free and head for the woods.

We took cover in some rather prickly brambles and watched whilst our erstwhile captors recovered their senses. As they stumbled around, disorientated from the explosion, Sleaze returned, dragging with him a large glass jar, clear plastic tubing, several branches (Tarquin assured me they were cuttings from the Evil Bunnyfoot) and a bunsen burner. What on earth was this man planning? Would we be able to stop this conspiracy? Would a green sparkly robe suit me? All these questions and more will be answered next time...

The Episode After That (A Relatively Dangerous Situation)

Ever one to grasp the gravity of a situation, Tarquin grabbed me round the waist and threw me bodily into the van, which fortunately had come to a halt in front of us. I barely had time to remonstrate with him when I had to dodge out of the way to avoid Jonathan’s inert form which was hurtling towards me. Tarquin himself was next, though I did manage to dodge into his path, so it wasn’t all bad.

The side of the van was slammed shut and we sped away from the Jonathan’s house at a rate of knots, Sleaze’s impotent curses ringing in our ears.

As we careered along the narrow country lane, I became aware that there was something entirely too familiar about these large men. It could have been the sweaters, but I suspected something else. I looked from Tarquin to the man by the door to the driver and the man in the passenger seat and back again. By crikey, they were identical! I surmised that I’d suffered a severe head trauma and was daydreaming or Tarquin was one of quadruplets. Either way, it was rather a pleasant way to spend an afternoon in the back of a van. I must have looked a bit confused (or lustful) as Tarquin suddenly put his arm round my shoulder and declared, ‘Kats, these are my brothers. Yes, we are quadruplets, and no, you can’t find out if we’re all totally identical.’

He nodded his head at the one by the door. ‘That’s Godfrey, Quentin is driving and the reprobate in the passenger seat is Bob.’

‘Bob? That seems a remarkably pedestrian name for your family,’ mumbled Jonathan as he finally regained consciousness.

Bob turned and smiled. ‘It’s only a nickname, my real name is Peregrine St John Gaylord. Guaranteed to make life interesting when you’re a part-time stevedore.’

By this point my flabber was well and truly gasted and I sank immediately into a sullen silence. What more surprises would this day bring? And was I likely to be hit by any more poison darts, however pleasurable the remedy?

Tarquin, being the observant type, affectionately cuffed me on the chin and said, ‘It’s ok, I know what you’re thinking.’

‘No you damn well don’t. Not unless you’re thinking of crushed nuts and a large spanner.’

He wisely refrained from comment and moved sheepishly towards the front of the van, which at this point, was careering along a rather bumpy road, but came screeching to a halt as we rounded a rather tight bend to discover the road blocked by another sinister black van. It was beginning to look like the Sinister Black Van Owners Club AGM.

Quentin slammed the van into reverse, causing me to tumble over a carelessly discarded coil of rope. My head bounced neatly off the van floor, something guaranteed not to improve your day. I’d just managed to get myself upright, when we screeched to a halt yet again, and I found myself pitched into the arms of Tarquin and his brother Godfrey. I mumbled my thanks (it’s quite hard to speak when you have a mouthful of Gaylord) whilst struggling to break free of their vice-like grip.

‘Feisty little thing, isn’t she?’ yelled Godfrey.

I fixed him with the Librarian Death Stare, whereupon he promptly fell silent. Along with everyone else. Something was happening and my guess was that it wasn’t going to be good.

I saw Jonathan in the corner and crawled over to him. Just at that moment, there was a metallic clang from outside the van and then a very loud skittering noise.

‘Oh my god, it’s worse than I feared,’ whispered Jonathan hoarsely. ‘They’ve released the Giant Lobster of Doom. I have a suspicion that we’re all done for now.’

The back door to the van rattled, then was pulled off its hinges and flung into the road. We instinctively shuffled to the front of the van as a giant claw moved slowly inside the van.

What could we do? How would we escape? Tune in next time to find out!