The Third Pig Detective Agency: The Complete Casebook. Bob Burke

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СКАЧАТЬ I resigned myself to my lot, rolled out the plans and studied them as best I could. I didn’t know how Mr Big (I know, I know, tremendously clichéd but I couldn’t keep calling him by the more pretentious and even more unoriginal ‘mysterious stranger’ moniker now, could I?) had gotten the plans but they were incredibly detailed. Were there any premises in Grimmtown he didn’t have an in-depth knowledge of?

      The plans, however, confirmed what I had already suspected: all access to Edna’s residence was controlled by yet more sophisticated and, no doubt, very effective security systems. Complementing these were somewhat less sophisticated – but no less effective – guards who were, in all probability, armed with a variety of interesting instruments of pain. The only way I was going in the front door was as the main ingredient in a Chinese takeaway – and that was a step that I was, understandably, very reluctant to take.

      The more I studied the plans, the more unlikely the prospect of recovering the lamp became. I could see no way in that avoided me being detected and if I couldn’t get in then my career as Grimmtown’s foremost detective would come to a premature end.

      I was about to ball the plans up and fling them in the garbage when I noticed a small tunnel I hadn’t seen before. At first glance, it looked like it led into one of the lower levels of the house from under the street. Upon closer examination, it became clear that it didn’t lead into the house as such. Rather, its primary function was to take some unpleasant material away from the house. Yes, you’ve guessed it; if I was to successfully enter the house undetected, I was going to have to do it via the sewage outlet. Yet another lucky break for me, eh? And if I actually managed to get into the building, I still had to navigate my way to where the lamp was kept, find some way of taking it and make my way back out again – all without alerting anybody. No problem!

      Ah well, may as well be hung for a boar as for a piglet. All it needed was a little bit of careful preparation, a massive slice of good luck, no one to flush suddenly and I might yet get out of this smelling of roses (or possibly not, bearing in mind what I was going to have to crawl through).

      I reached for the phone as, once more, I was going to have to utilise the resources of another of my many contacts – and I was well connected. There may have been a thinness on the ground when it came to my informants but, when I needed to lay my hands on ‘stuff’, I knew some people who knew some people who could source anything: from doorknobs to a tactical nuclear warhead.

      Ezekiel Clubfoote was the man to go to for all your gumshoe shopping requirements. If he didn’t have it, or couldn’t get his hands on it, then chances were it didn’t exist or you never really needed it in the first place. He had been an exceedingly poor shoemaker (from both a finance and quality perspective) some years back. Business had, consequently, been pretty bad but, on the brink of total ruin, he had allegedly made some deal with elves that rescued his career. Apparently, whatever raw material he left in the shop at close of business each day would have been transformed into high-quality footwear by the next morning. Suddenly his shoes and, by extension, his services were in popular demand and in Grimmtown being in popular demand made you a very wealthy person indeed.

      Not one to miss an opportunity, he experimented with leaving other materials out for the elves each night. No matter what he left out, the next morning he’d be presented with a finished product of some description. Put out some clay – get high-class porcelain. Leave some wood: an antique chair. From such small beginnings are large warehouses of equipment – and a thriving distribution company – made.

      I dialled and waited. I didn’t have to wait long.

      ‘Yes?’ came a very cultured voice from the other end of the phone.

      ‘Zeke, it’s Harry. I need something from your elves.’

      ‘Of course you do. Big or small?’

      ‘Not too big this time; I only need a lock pick, a wetsuit and an Orc costume.’

      Considering the last time I had contacted him, I had looked for infrared glasses, four kangaroos, a machete and a rocket launcher (remind me to tell you sometime), a lock pick wasn’t too excessive a demand.

      ‘An Orc costume?’ I imagined his eyes opening wide in surprise. ‘There isn’t really any such thing. It’s more of a collection of smelly furs and skins held together by dirt and an occasional chain. You don’t so much acquire one as have bits of one stick to you after rolling around in a rubbish tip.’

      Considering what happened during my initial encounter with Benny, I knew what he meant.

      ‘And what kind of lock will you be picking? And, no, I don’t want to know the personal details – just the technical ones,’ said Zeke.

      ‘Well, there’s the problem,’ I replied. ‘You see, I’m not really sure. I suspect that the door I have to open will more than likely be locked, but I have no idea how sophisticated this lock may be.’

      ‘Hmmm, without knowing the details, I suspect that you’ll need the Masterblaster. It’s so good, a man, or indeed a pig, with no fingers could open any lock with it. It’s a “Choice of the Month” in Lock Pickers Illustrated and it doesn’t come more highly recommended than that, let me tell you.’

      I rolled my eyes upwards. He did so like his little sales pitches.

      ‘Fine, fine. How soon can I have them?’

      ‘Give me an hour. I need to make sure it’s in my next run so I’ll organise to have them dropped off to you as soon as I get them.’

      ‘Thanks, Zeke. I owe you.’

      ‘Yes, you do. And I’ll collect.’ Zeke hung up, leaving me with the dial tone for company.

      While I waited for the equipment, I studied the plans some more. Edna’s outlet (if you’ll forgive the phrase) connected to a main sewer that serviced the entire block where her headquarters was located. Access to this larger sewer could be gained via a number of manholes; I just needed to find one that wasn’t too public and just far enough away to avoid being seen by whatever surveillance systems she had in operation. Mind you, that was the easy part. After that I had to make my way up a very narrow tunnel and hope that the exit at the other end was a little larger than a U-bend.

      In the short term, personal hygiene would be a thing of the past and a shower very much an aspirational goal until I had what I came for – assuming I managed to get that far in the first place.

      I can’t say I was particularly looking forward to the next few hours.

       9

       Flushed with Success

      Of course, no matter how well I plan these jobs, there’s always something. Well, have you ever tried to open a manhole using trotters? Let me tell you, it’s not easy. For one thing, it’s hard to get a grip on the rim. For another, manhole covers are heavy and, thirdly, I was on my own. Lastly, I was wearing a bright blue wetsuit (although it was so worn and full of holes it could be more accurately described as a dampsuit) under a foul-smelling collection of rags that could probably have represented the height of fashion from an Orc’s perspective. All this, and I had to try not to appear too conspicuous as well. As a result, by the time I finally got the drain open (with the help of a tyre iron), my wetsuit had even more holes, my back hurt, and my skin was a darker shade СКАЧАТЬ