John entered the unmarked and generally rather unremarkable building which sat between 29 and 33 Basildon Road to find a small reception area which was completely devoid of life. He noticed a row of green seats in the corner and sat on one of them, but quickly realised that there was already something on the seat. He had unwittingly sat on the green-trousered leg of the receptionist who had, until that precise moment, been quietly snoring away and minding his own business. However, he didn't take too kindly to people sitting on his legs and awoke with a start, causing John to notice that he was clad entirely in green clothing which perfectly matched the seating and decoration of this odd little room.

'I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.'

'Funny how everyone else does,' the man remarked as he clambered to his feet.

'Look, I'm really sorry — I'm not quite with it at the moment. I got hit by a car on the way here.'

'And who are you, exactly?'

'Oh right, er... John Dvorak. Someone should be expecting me.'

'Okay — through that door over there, then.'

John looked in the direction the man was pointing and noticed a handle set into what otherwise looked like a blank section of green wall. He nodded and wandered over to the door, marvelling at how well-hidden it was. He was just about to turn the handle when the man pointed out that that was the door through which John had arrived and that he was to go through the door next to it. John looked at the next wall over and, after a few moments of staring, he noticed an even less obvious sign that simply read PUSH.

The Grand Controller was getting fed up. Neither of the private eyes she had called had turned up and she had no intention of doing the job herself. Fortunately, at that moment a strange man in a back-to-front t-shirt fell straight through the door to her office. Without pausing to consider whether she shouldn't oil the door's hinges so often, she ordered the man to state who he was and what he thought he was doing just storming straight into her office like that. He claimed to be John Dvorak, but the Grand Controller decided she didn't really care and simply threw the folder containing the assignment at him and told him to get on with it. The man seemed a little startled by this, but he soon worked out how to exit the room, leaving the Grand Controller to relax with a nice cup of hot chocolate and one of those little biscuity things that always seem to appear from nowhere.

John left the building even more bemused than when he arrived and began to consider making a list of things which were currently making his life more complicated than he wanted it to be. He got out a pen and started scribbling on the back of a thick brown envelope that he just happened to now be carrying. The result looked something like this:

Just as John was trying to come up with a point six, it began to rain. Shielding the envelope from the downpour, he ran down the street to find shelter in the local newsagent's, where he decided he would have to buy an umbrella and ask how the hell he was going to get home from here. He had to wait a while to get served, though, as a putrid greeny-purple man was busy buying half a pound of jelly babies and was looking for the exact change. John decided to add him to the list as well. His concentration having been disrupted by a ghost swan pecking at his right ankle, John promptly forgot to buy an umbrella, purchasing a packet of paracetamol tablets instead.

Pyrodæmon had just finished washing his newly-acquired tow truck when he noticed Lluchmoor had gone. He wasn't inside with Mrs Bewidigeldi and he wasn't outside eating his way through a fresh pile of rock cakes, so Pyrodæmon hadn't a clue where to start looking. He stuck his purply-green head over the hedge to look into the other gardens along the road, but there was nothing except for a small family barbecue that was about to be ruined by the oncoming rain. Maybe the fool had got lost somewhere — maybe that would do him some good. In the meantime, Pyrodæmon could just get on with planning something vaguely resembling world domination except without the so obviously stupid ideas that he always saw in films. At first he had assumed that the ideas he saw in films would be perfect for use in real life, but he had slowly begun to realise that every plan he had seen so far was fatally flawed and was being put into motion by a complete idiot. He'd tried looking for books on the subject, but they just didn't exist. He would just have to come up with something completely new and completely foolproof. After all, Lluchmoor was the only sidekick available and he could get himself lost while sitting down.

John got home soaking wet. It wasn't as if the walk from the bus stop had been that far, but the rain had multiplied its efforts in an attempt to compensate, ensuring that he was thoroughly drenched by the time he had ran the hundred metres back to Travers Road. He struggled to unlock the front door as quickly as possible and hurled himself inside, only to find that someone was already there.

'So you're a private detective, then? You're obviously not the sort that locks their back door, though.'

'How... what are you doing here?'

'Just popped by to let you know I've taken your bike to be fixed at the place on Seven Sisters Road — they'll have it done in a few days.'

'Oh. Why didn't you just call me?'

'Well, for a start you forgot to put your number on your business card...'

'Fair enough. Can I get you a cup of tea or something?'

'How about I make the tea and you go and dry off before you catch a cold...'

On the Subject of Pie Archive

AlexAshman

16.11.06 Front Page

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