Badly written story

“Hand over your monkey,” the robber said, brandishing a gnu. The rest of the gang had been lion in wait, and suddenly leopard out brandishing shoguns.

In no time at all the bank was emptied of all loot and the gang made their escape on whore's-back.

The main problem of being a detective in Badly Written World is distinguishing the genuine clues from spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. I had recently spent a month wrongly investigating a panda for the restaurant murder inquiry, because a witness had said that he eats, shoots and leaves, exactly fitting the modus operandi of the murder.

This inquiry too included a fruitless afternoon at the zoo, interviewing gnus, lions, leopards, monkeys and shoguns. Who even knew that a shogun was an animal? None of them seemed to be involved in the robbery.

The rest of that afternoon was wasted waiting for the rest of my squad to return. I’d asked them to look into the ‘escaping on whore’s-back’ clue and they’d all gone to check out the local knocking shops, but that was hours ago. Eventually they returned, exhausted by their policing duties and I settled up their expenses with minimum fuss.

Except for PC Bolognaise. “£300?” I exclaimed, “how did you manage to spend £300 in one afternoon.”

“It was a girl called Molly,” he explained, "she was showing me all of the positions they might have escaped in.”

A bright lad PC Bolognaise, he’ll go far. We were interrupted by a man in a turban who spoke with a strong Indian accent. It was our foreign Sikh expert Tommy.

“Spudattendant Apricot,” he said

“Yes,” I said, a lifetime working in Badly Written World has taught me to answer to anything.

“We’ve found these,” he said. He showed me a series of beautiful pieces of artwork, not originals but colourful, delighted paintings just the same.

“Excellent,” I said, “they’ve left fine prints. See if you can trace them through the rogue’s gallery.”

I was interrupted by one of my minions, PC Oblast.

“Sparelooattendant Melon,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, you learn to answer to anything in my line of work.

“The witness is here, the woman from the bank.”

“Excellent, bring her through.”

The bank teller was a middle aged woman, who seemed unfazed by being involved in a serious crime investigation.

“Tell me what happened in your own words,” I said.

“Blingo, flubbly, rumpsjack, clumphanoodle, ahoodlehoodle,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, “now tell me again, this time in English.”

She described the robbery and I took notes. There were no useful clues about the robbers, they’d been careful to hide their identity. My last case had involved The Really Stupid Robbers, who asked for a cheque to be made out in their names. It clearly wasn’t the same gang.

The interview was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Tommy.

“Sorry to interrupt Spalutherian Tinned Peach.”

“That’s okay,” I said, you learn to answer to anything in this game.

“We’ve identified the artists.” I gestured for him to continue and he read from a list. “Constable, Hockney, Magrite and Van Gough.”

“Right, start rounding them up,” I said, “they’re all suspects, especially Magrite.”

Tommy left and I continued with the interview.

“Describe the man to me,” I said.

“Well he wears a turban and speaks in an Indian accent,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, “and now describe the robber to me.

“He was average height,” she said.

“His age?”

“Average.”

“Build?”

“Average.”

“Shoe size?”

“Average.”

“Any distinguishing features?”

“He had a goatee bear.”

Damn, I was going to have to go back to the zoo. These crazy crossbreeds, it was a lion-tiger cross that had misled me in my previous case by giving me false information.

Interview finished I was looking forward to lunch, but it wasn’t to be.

“Spannerintelligence Rhubarb Rhubarb Rhubarb.” It was one of my minions.

“Yes,” I said, you soon learn to answer to anything in this job.

“There’s a journalist to see you, Loda Leyes.”

“Show her in,” I said.

I recognised her at once from my previous case. It had involved a scientist, murdered for the invisibility cloak he was developing. I’d caught her snooping around the crime scene. “There’s nothing to see here,” I’d told her.

“Good afternoon Spannerorientation Loganberry,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” I said, it's always either afternoon or lunchtime in badly written world, which makes working out the chronology of a crime exceedingly difficult, plus I never get enough sleep.

“Are these the same men that that robbed the bank in the neighbouring town?” she asked.

Wow, I thought, I’ll have to check that out. I didn’t even know there were any other towns nearby. Maybe they have a Waitrose there, I'm fed up with Tesco.

“We’re aware of the possibility,” is what I said, “I’m sorry, I can’t answer any more questions today.”

“Just one more,” she said, “were you aware that I can read your mind.”

I wasn’t actually, but I didn’t let on. “I can’t reveal what the police know or don’t now on this matter,” I said.

“A Sainsbury’s but no Waitrose,” she said as I showed her out.

It was time for lunch.

After ten minutes in the staff canteen queue the chef suddenly realised he was the wrong side of the counter and started serving.

I was just about to order the orange curry (no oranges in it, that’s just its colour) when I was interrupted by one of my minions, Josh. Josh was unaware he was just a minion and had grown to 6 foot 7 inches tall, so I had to strain my neck to look down on him.

“Smellylittleelephant Jaffasaremorejuicy.”

“Yes,” I said, I’ve learnt to answer to anything.

“We’ve found the gang,” he said, “they’re corned in a cottage in the sleepy little village just outside the town.”

“Sleepy little village? I don’t think I know the place.”

“It’s the one with the giant Waitrose, he said.

“Hurrah, Goodbye Tesco, Farewell Morrisons, arrivederci Asda,” I said.

“Sorry Spongingdownexcrement gooseberry?,” Josh said, somewhat confused.

“Damn, I meant to think it, not say it out loud.”

xxx

I joined the rest of my squad, who had circled the cottage.

“They don’t know we’re here," said Tommy, “they’re playing cars in the front room.”

I could hear the roar of engines and the smell of diesel and burnt rubber. It reminded me of my wedding night.

I led my team of elite officers into the cottage. It was unlocked, thieves never expect to be robbed you see.

We caught the gang red handed. They were sitting round a table playing brag; “I’ve got the best hand,” said one, “my hand’s better than yours,” said another.

I recognised the gang immediately. The monkey, the gnu, leopard, liger, lion, shogun and the goatee bear.

“We’ve got you surrounded,” I said, “come quietly and it will be easier for us.”

They came quietly; fight scenes and dramatic chases are notoriously difficult to write in Badly Written English and frankly I can never be bothered with them.

The goatee bear was clearly their ringleader. “What you going to do with us, Superintelligent Cucumber?” he asked.

“Cucumber,” I said, surprised, "that's not even a fruit."

“You have to answer to anything in Badly Written World,” he said. “So what happens now?”

“I’m going to make sure that you all spend the rest of your lives behind bars,” I said.

“Oh no!”

“That’s right, back to the zoo for all of you.”

The animals were led away. Josh walked up to me. “There’s something I don’t understand Spamintelligence Fruitsalad,” he said.

“What’s that?” I said, I answer to anything, it just saves time.

“There’s hardly been any bad writing in the second half of this story,” he said, “just some bad puns.”

“Oh I don’t know,” I said, “if you read it through I think you’ll find it’s a pretty badly written story all the way through.”