The Man In the Pink Mackintosh the Second Book In the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

By Nigel Clements

‘The Chaos on the Streets’, which began in the pages
of ‘Prologue: Spud Carrot Begins’, finally hits the
National headlines, as Spud Carrot and his trusty
‘Taskforce’ set off on their first ever proper case.
The aprehention of the ‘Man in the Pink Mackintosh,’
as the rubber and plastic clad villain ploughs a
seemingly unstoppable path towards the very highest
echelons of British society.

Find out just what is squeaking in Spud’s filing cabinet,
discover the connection between Miss Adventure and
her ‘Tibetan Rug’ and revel in sheer delight as
Mrs. Elsie Whoopoing becomes a national celebrity.

Some questions are answered and more clues are
revealed as our intrepid quartet finally pick up the
trail... But are they actually heading in the right
direction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291942224

Book preview

The Man In the Pink Mackintosh the Second Book In the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

The Man in the Pink Mackintosh

the Second Book in the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

By Nigel Clements

Published by Nigel Clements

2014

Copyright © 2014 by Nigel Clements

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: July 2014 (eBook Version)

ISBN 978-1-291-94222-4

Nigel Clements

Rollerstraße 5

Neunkirchen, (Saar) 66538 www.lulu.com/spotlight/ndotclementsatskydotcom

Authors Foreword & Disclaimer.

Samuel Collins, traumatised in 1973 and now living under the self-imposed misnomer of ‘Spud Carrot’, discovers that he is required by his late Father’s last will & testament to find and hold down permanent employment and joins his Fathers firm, the private detective agency known as C.H.I.E.F (Central Headquarters for Intelligence and Espionage Foundation – Bletchley Branch), which is now solely run by his Uncle, Aldous Shrimp (The Chief).

Unwilling and unable to adapt to modern life, and determined to discover the reasons behind his Father’s death in mysterious circumstances, he is guided at every turn by his life-long friend Cedric ‘The Creak’ Hardcastle, a member of the secretive Burqa wearing C.R.E.A.K. organisation. Accompanied by Edgar ‘Headlines’  Daniels, a high-tech spectacle wearing ‘nerd’, and Percival ‘Percy Poles’ Sanders, master of disguise (as long as it’s either a broom, a pole or a snooker cue), they are formed into a special ‘Taskforce’ by the Chief and designated to investigate and solve some of country’s more bizarre cases.

Stumbling onto a plot to force the Chief into signing over control of C.H.I.E.F. to the mysterious B.U.B.B.L.E.W.R.A.P. Project, via means of mind-control ‘Vol-eu-Vents’, Spud manages to save the day by destroying his Mother’s microwave and accidentally creating a ‘Sugar Puff’ cure.

Miss Adventure, the enigmatic and seemingly ageless ‘Inventory and Field Supplies’ manageress of C.H.I.E.F. reveals to Cedric the Creak her belief that B.U.B.B.L.E.W.R.A.P. is actually an amalgam of two long forgotten terrorist organisations from the 1970’s, (the British Bully-Boys League and the West Russian Anti-everything Power), and that they have resurfaced within the upper echelons of British Society.

Unbeknownst to them a second phase of terror entitled ‘Chaos on the Streets’ has been unleashed by the man known only as ‘The Voice’ from his Cumbrian Tourist Information Booth Headquarters, in the shape of former C.H.I.E.F. Botanist Alfred ‘Growing Horror’ Growler, who has now adopted the title of ‘The Man in the Pink Mackintosh’ after successfully destroying the mind of his first victim, Professor Ernest ‘Pterodactyl’ Johnson.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Smile! It’s supposed to be fun.

‘Nigel Clements.’

1: Called into Action.

The tranquillity of the Beech trees, which stood majestically in front of the Office building of the Central Headquarters for Intelligence and Espionage Foundation (Bletchley Division), shielding its inner workings from the car park and harsh brutality of everyday Bletchley life that lay beyond, had been rudely interrupted by the untimely eruption of an unprecedented out-of-season blossoming event and caused them to droop like fainting green and white uniformed sentries caught in the unnaturally searing heat of the morning sun.

Having decimated the first line of defences, the Sun’s rays then cascaded carelessly through the glass fronted lobby, glinting off the highly polished chequered tile flooring and rebounding into the large open space, threatening to bake alive anyone who would be foolish enough to be dressed in anything more than light cotton and flip-flops.

Phew! It’s a bit hot in here Cedric." Spud Carrot remarked to his light cotton enshrouded and flip-flop wearing best friend.

Well take your raincoat off then Spud, you don’t have to wear it all the time you know. Cedric the Creak, the ceremonial robe wearing member of the much respected C.R.E.A.K. organisation and official attaché to C.H.I.E.F., advised his colleague and oldest friend Samuel ‘Spud Carrot’ Collins, as the two men approached the large C-Shaped aluminium reception desk.

The austere, yet totally drop-dead gorgeous woman, standing behind the desk and guarded on either side by gently rotating fans, watched intently through her ice-blue eyes as the two men walked towards her with a mixture of both mild admiration for one and suspicious loathing for the other. Her hair as always was pulled into a tight and immaculate golden pony-tail, which constantly flicked to and fro with a sunlight enhanced provocative motion as she worked, casually shuffling a few of the days important papers.

Morning Gaye, it’s too warm for cardigans eh? I see you’re as ever surrounded by your adoring fans. Cedric greeted the woman warmly with his usual assured tone.

Good morning Cedric, yes the Chief has relaxed the dress code while this spell of hot weather keeps up and I see you’ve brought that pest with you again. Gaye Abandon replied employing her typical friendly yet reserved manner, acknowledging his gentle humour as she simultaneously scowled at the heavily sweating man who stood slightly behind the Burqa wearing attaché, drooling lasciviously.

The miniscule eyes of Spud Carrot grew to their widest as his vision fixated on both the continued gentle sway of her pony-tail and the heaving swell of her tight cream blouse.

Harumph! She announced with barely concealed derision, as she abruptly concluded her paper shuffling chores and abandoned the confines of the reception desk, heading directly towards the waiting elevator, her perfectly formed derriere swaying pertly within a pair of light grey culottes, and asking, Does he do anything else around here other than being a complete letch?

Do you think she likes me? Spud asked as he became instantly distracted by the flow of cooling yet evasive air emanating from the rotating fans and began hopping around them, flapping his arms, like some demented giant yellow chicken.

Placing a gently restraining and cloth covered hand onto his mop-headed friends’ shoulder Cedric advised, Well I wouldn’t get your hopes up mate, you’ll just have to wait and see, time will tell it always does in the end. Now I’ve got to go and return this book to Miss Adventure, so why don’t you head over to your office and see if either Percy or Edgar have arrived yet. as he indicated the book he’d just moments before produced from under his bed sheet and started to walk away.

Looking up at him with his unnaturally small yet innocent brown eyes, a worried expression fell across his face and Spud replied indecisively, "Umm, okay Cedric, it’s umm, down that corridor there isn’t it? As he then pointed in a completely random direction.

Smiling inwardly at his friends seemingly constant state of confusion, Cedric the Creak chuckled and said, This way Spud. Escorting him to another corridor in the exact opposite direction and adding, I’ll wait here and see that you find it okay, remember it’s the door right at the far end.

Which door on the right at the far end? The one with the picture of the little stick man, or the one with the picture of the little stick man standing behind a triangle? Spud asked, staring down the corridor and instantly baffled by the complicated instructions.

Neither, it’s the door at the end, straight ahead, go on you can see it from here, I’ll watch you. Cedric urged patiently.

Sucking in a deep breath and pulling the collar of his yellow raincoat up around his broad and sweat saturated neck, Spud sank his hands deep into his pockets and strode purposefully forward, focusing all of his attention on the door which stood some twenty yards distant, determined to overcome this latest obstacle to his fledgling career as a detective.

Glancing nervously as he passed several other possible and enticing entrances both left and right, until eventually stopping before what seemed like it might be the correct door, he tentatively reached out his hand, grasped the handle, turned it and pushed.

Click!

The familiar sights and sounds that greeted him as he opened the door swung inwards instantly eased his fraught nerves and he allowed himself the luxury of releasing his bated breath with a relieved sigh.

Sigh!

Clunk!

Closing the door behind him and making his way to the easy chair situated behind his desk, he slumped into its worn yet comfortably padded seat, leaned back, swung his legs onto the desk and murmured with a mildly intense tone, Okay World what else have you got for me today then?

Tick, tock! The wall clock replied.

Squeak, squeak! The filing cabinet faintly affirmed.

You can shut up! And what is that damned perpetual squeaking noise? Spud cried instantly agitated, reprimanding the clock as he leaped up from his chair and strode across the harsh blue industrial carpet towards the chipped grey enamel of the offending three drawer filing cabinet.

Morning Miss, I’ve brought your book back and was wondering if we could continue out erm, our little discussion? Cedric the Creak greeted and enquired as he propped himself half in and half out of the open doorway to ‘Inventory and Field Supplies.’

Shhhlunk!

Come on in Cedric, I was actually expecting you. Miss Adventure replied with her usual sweet smile, as she closed one of the multitudes of filing cabinets and led him towards the rest area situated at the back of her expansive domain.

As has been previously mentioned, the statuesque Miss Adventure is a supremely attractive woman, her just over the shoulder deep reddish-brown hair accentuating her slightly dusky complexion and penetratingly large, yet always warm, hazelnut eyes to perfection. She has the kind of hourglass figure that most women would simply die for, and yet carries her tall frame with a simple and unprovocative elegance. She is also an extremely compassionate woman, the kind that would seemingly go out of their way to give assistance to any poor wretch in dire need and has a genuine openness that counterbalances her complicated and secretive nature.

Would you like a coffee Cedric? She enquired politely, disappearing into the small kitchen/washroom alcove, as Cedric the Creak adjusted his robes and seated himself onto the well-worn, but comfortable beige sofa.

Please, milk no sugar. He answered, whilst placing the aforementioned book onto the low coffee table that stood neatly atop an exotic Tibetan rug and began mentally reminding himself of a few of the more pertinent questions he’d prepared, as he looked down at the book’s cover, which depicted a group of large hairy, yet surprisingly attractive,  humanoid creatures of an obviously feminine persuasion.

Setting Cedric’s coffee down onto a small paper doily, she settled herself into the armchair opposite, holding her own mug to her lips and gently blowing at its steaming dark brown contents, and evoking an enigmatic smile, arching both her eyebrows as she asked him, So what did you think of the book then?

Interesting, nothing I haven’t read before, although it does go into a lot more depth, Cedric tentatively replied and then added, but you don’t really expect me to believe that Yetis actually exist do you Miss?

Casting her head back she let out a slight laugh, which seemed to fill the room with the sound of water trickling out of a side stream and then cascading into a small babbling brook, before returning her attention to her guest and replying, Well I should know Cedric. tipping him a mischievous wink, whilst purposefully slipping her left out of a maroon stiletto and caressing the luxurious Tibetan rug with her toes.

What do you mean, you should know? Cedric enquired, rather perplexed by her seemingly casual comment.

I think it might be easier for you to understand if I just went ahead and showed you Cedric. Miss Adventure remarked with a sudden flicker of passionate fire in her eyes, as she sprouted a decidedly thick coat of sleek dark brown body hair, which shone with luxuriant healthiness, bristling beneath her cream blouse and cut just above the knee deep red maxi skirt.

Ptoooooh! Cedric exploded, caught completely off guard and spitting coffee across the table.

A spoon? Spud Carrot remarked aloud, quizzically holding a slightly tarnished soup spoon in his hand and adding, Completely empty apart from some stupid old spoon, what use is that?

Squeak, squeak! The filing cabinet offered unhelpfully.

Gah! Spud spat in frustration, stomping back to his easy chair and tossing the aforementioned cutlery item onto his desk.

Clink!

Sinking down into his seat and slipping back into a tedium-induced stupor, he allowed his eyes to wander around the small office, performing some sort of ceremonial ‘Fly-past’, as he took stock of his work environments meagre trappings.

The aforementioned constantly squeaking filing cabinet, which displayed its chipped grey surface with an almost wanton disregard for common decency, the large British ordinance survey map, resplendent with its confusing melee of multi-coloured lines, the full-length mirror that hung on the wall next to it, which would have been better placed within the gentlemen’s fitting rooms at ‘John Colliers the Windows to Watch’ and for which he’d yet to find a logical function, glistening splendidly with reflected sunlight and finally the coat rack  standing in the corner, nakedly anticipating the prospect of fulfilling its duty as an occasional resting place for his highly significant and much adored yellow raincoat, which he’d been issued with on his first day here and was meant as an obscure indication his rank.

Pausing for a brief moment and allowing himself the pleasure of a flickering but tenuous smile, as the word ‘Rank’ trickled into his subconscious mind, conjuring up an inner image whereby multitudes of tiny yellow raincoat wearing soldiers marched in formation past crowds of similarly adorned flag-waving citizens to the sound of some unseen brass band ensemble.

Eventually dismissing the thought as just another flight of fancy, he allowed his eyes to complete their haphazard journey, as he once more focused on the innocuous looking office door directly ahead.

Shhhlup, scrape!

Tap, tap!

Scrape, shhhhlup!

The sudden sounds of someone or something, scraping and tapping gently on the opposite side, caused him to become momentarily alert and he sat bolt-upright in his easy chair, his moustache faintly twitching with an intense inquisitiveness.

Then noticing the tell-tale appearance of a lurking and menacing shadow, which had manifested itself in the little crack between the door’s bottom edge and the harsh blue carpet’s surface, Spud surmised that there was someone out there.

Hmm! he thought deeply, propelling the various reasons for this sudden apparition through his quagmire infested consciousness, before finally concluding, It’s probably just that infernal ‘Elsie Whoopoing’ woman with her perpetual tea-trolley device again. No doubt she’ll try once more to entice me with her offers of hot beverages and sponge fingers as a convenient way to twitter on constantly about her beloved ‘Nephew Jeremy’ and her upcoming holiday to Madrid, where she’ll be taking in the sun, taking in the sights, probably taking in some laundry and watching the damned football.

Satisfied with this conclusion, he slipped once more into the relaxing embrace of his easy chair and his self-imposed stupor.

But then suddenly and without any possible warning, there came a loud and unwelcoming knocking sound, which seemingly emanated from the other side of his closed office door.

Knock, knock!

Instantly startled and not wishing to be subjected to another machine-gun diatribe from the scatter-brained tea-lady, he threw himself beneath the desk, seeking shelter amidst the vast array of empty cardboard boxes and became instantly distracted as he thought, Hmmm! These might come in handy for my many and varied collecting habits.

Knock, knock!

The second knocking sound interrupted Spud’s cardboard box musing and reminded him of the imminent and potential danger that lurked just a doors-width away. Peering nervously around the intricately constructed leg of the desk towards the door, it’s faint throbbing causing him to become fraught in anticipation of the next potential attack, he whispered almost inaudibly, Go away, there’s nobody here.

There was a moment’s tense silence and the World seemed to hold its breath along with him, as he sought frantically through his limited options for a suitable course of action, but as no further obvious threats manifested themselves; Spud allowed himself the pleasure of releasing his captured inhalation.

Phew! He thought, noticing that the door