The Third Pig Detective Agency: The Complete Casebook. Bob Burke
attracting any undue attention, I turned onto Hans Christian Andersen Street. Dusk had made way for night and the city’s bright young things were all out in their vampire-look finery again. On every corner a girl from Little Matchgirls Inc. was hawking hot dogs, burgers and fried chicken – the company had diversified over the years, especially after smoking fell out of favour. The sound of people having a good time (at least, everyone except me) could be heard through the doors as I passed the multitude of bars and restaurants that proliferated both sides of the street. Much as I enjoyed a quiet drink and some intellectual conversation in my local, the bar I was heading to was one where I didn’t expect the conversation to be particularly stimulating. It was located about halfway up the street and had a particularly distinctive frontage – it was bright green. Outside the Blarney Tone, Grimmtown’s only Irish bar (‘Come for the Music, You’ll Stay for the Craic’), a very small man in a very shiny bright green and white costume was exhorting passers-by to come in and enjoy the fun inside. Benny was a gnome and Grimmtown’s worst leprechaun impersonator. I stopped behind him to listen to his patter. He had the worst Irish accent I’d ever heard; yes, even worse than Tom Cruise’s in Far and Away – and I should know, my grandfather was prime Irish bacon.
‘Ah sure now, will ye not come in and try a Guinness. ’Tis only the best in the town, brought in specially, direct from the brewery in Dublin. There’s a free plate of crubeens thrown in for good measure. You won’t see the like anywhere else.’ As he spoke he did a little jig that caused the rather large silver buckles on his black shoes to clang like a set of enormous bells.
The rest of his outfit was just as subtle as his shoes. Bright white socks stretched up to just below the knees, where they were met by bright green plus fours that were kept up by a large black belt. White frills that seemed to explode from a shirt so white it hurt to look at it fronted an equally lurid green jacket. An obviously fake ginger beard and curly wig covered most of his grey-skinned face like a bright orange fungus. On his head he wore a long black hat with yet another shiny buckle. It looked like someone had rammed a bucket upside-down on his head.
He was possibly the least convincing leprechaun in history but he was also just the man I needed to talk to. Despite the ludicrous outfit he was very sturdily built. In fact, he was the type of guy who could deliver a hefty punch to your midriff while, owing to his size, every attempt you made to hit him back just went over his head.
He still hadn’t noticed me as I approached him carefully and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Evening Benny,’ I said cheerfully.
He spun around and for a split second his face dropped as he recognised me. Like the true pro he vainly aspired to be, he immediately recovered and began his Irish shtick again but his first reaction had given him away.
‘Begorrah Mr Pigg, is it yourself that’s in it. And out on a fine night like this too. Sure why not drop in and try a pint of the black stuff. ’Tis the best in town.’ As he spoke he made to move towards me. This time I was somewhat better prepared and, as I quickly stepped back, I nodded to two large shapes that had just as quickly, but a lot more silently, moved up behind him. As he tried to land a punch on me a large hand grabbed his neck from behind and suddenly jerked him backwards and upwards. He dangled in mid-air, legs kicking so fast he looked like he was pedalling an invisible bicycle. The hand held his head level with my eyes and squeezed ever so slightly. Benny’s face began to turn an interesting shade of bright red as his neck began to constrict under the pressure.
‘Now, Benny,’ I said cheerfully, ‘perhaps we can discuss your recent forays into robbery and GBH.’
‘I … don’t … know … what … you … mean,’ he managed to choke out. By now his face was turning from red to purple and I watched with fascination (and no small degree of pleasure I must shamefully admit).
‘Ah, but how remiss of me,’ I said. ‘I’m forgetting my manners. Before we start, allow me to introduce my colleagues, Mr Lewis and Mr Carroll. They’re ogres.’ Considering their size, strength and skin colour it was probably stating the obvious, but I wanted to see Benny sweat and show him that I meant business. My ‘colleagues’ were each over eight feet tall with skin that almost matched Benny’s jacket in hue. Their impressively muscular frames were barely contained by the immaculate evening suits they had squeezed into. They were definitely the type of guys (or creatures) that you needed when there was a possibility of any unpleasantness, as they tended to be a very effective deterrent – as they were now proving.
‘Now that the introductions are over, perhaps we can get down to business,’ I said to Benny. ‘Let me put some perspective on this for you, just in case you’re confused.’
As Benny wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box I figured I’d better spell it out for him. Before I could start, however, I noticed that his face was now bright blue. Perhaps the ogres were being a trifle too eager.
‘Mr Lewis, perhaps a little less pressure.’
Lewis grunted and relaxed his hand slightly. Benny’s face returned to its previous shade of purple.
‘OK, Benny,’ I said, ‘let’s begin. Once upon a time there was a gnome named Benny. Not too bright but always on the lookout for an opportunity, he made a living as a dodgy leprechaun impersonator trying to get gullible customers into the local Irish bar. And, by the way, you need to work on that accent. Are you with me so far?’
He nodded, his head barely moving.
‘Good. Now, our friend Benny probably got an offer from someone to help him acquire a valuable antique from a local businessman. It certainly wasn’t Benny’s idea, what with him not being too bright and all, but the offer was impressive enough to encourage him. How am I doing so far?’
Benny gave another little nod.
‘This is called detecting, Benny. It’s what I do. I examine the clues and determine what’s going on. This then allows me to follow a specific line of inquiry. This specific line of inquiry has, most fortuitously, brought me to you.
‘In this instance, your mysterious client clearly needed someone with some subterranean delving skills and who would also do what he was told, no questions asked, as long as the price was right.
‘Unfortunately he picked you,’ I continued. ‘You may be a great digger, which of course pointed me in the right direction, but you were a trifle careless at the scene of the crime.’ I reached into my pocket and removed a small envelope. Inside was the green thread I’d found on the tree outside Aladdin’s. ‘You appear to have picked up a minor tear on your sleeve and, look, the thread I happen to have here matches almost perfectly. What a coincidence, eh?’
There was another gurgle that could have meant anything from ‘What great detective work. You’ve certainly rumbled me. I confess’ to ‘I’m slowly choking to death here, could you ask your moron to reduce the pressure on my neck somewhat.’
I chose to interpret it as the latter, although I certainly wouldn’t describe Lewis as a moron – at least not to his face. Another nod and Lewis eased his grip slightly more.
‘Now I know that you aren’t working alone, not only because you haven’t got the smarts to pull this off on your own, but even you couldn’t drive a car into the enchanted forest, crash it rather spectacularly and then get back here to play little green man with the tourists so quickly. Nice trick by the way, getting one of your idiot cronies to use the camera to see where he was going because he was too small to look over the wheel. I take it you didn’t come up with that idea either?’ The response was another faint shake of the head.
‘Now I know that, as a rule, when goblins get together, rather than the total being greater than the sum of the parts, the collective IQ tends drop to well below that of the dumbest member – a kind of anti-synergy. I suspect, therefore, that you were the mere executors of this cunning plan that, in all likelihood, was probably written out in very small words and very short sentences so you and your cronies could follow it without screwing up – which you failed miserably to do. So here’s what I’m going to do.’ I looked Benny straight in the eye to let him know that