The Badge And The Gun: Johnny Two Kebabs, #9

By Johnny Two Kebabs

When Johnny's underpants are stolen, such is his outrage that he takes a solemn vow: Until the day he tracks down the underpants thief and brings him to justice, he will 'go commando'. Deprived of his jocks and driven by a relentless desire for justice, he investigates not only the theft of his undergarment but also the circumstances surrounding a trail of bodies left in south London by the 'underpants killer'.

Could the underpants thief and the underpants killer be the same person? Is the serial killer a 'trophy hunter'? With no jocks on, will Johnny get a chill in his kidneys? These are the questions Johnny must answer as he 'rides bareback' in his quest to find the culprit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Johnny Two Kebabs
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224753116

Johnny Two Kebabs

Who is Johnny Two Kebabs? There has been much speculation in recent years as to whether Johnny Two Kebabs really exists. Is it true that on 15th June 2011 after drinking 13 pints of lager, he polished off two doner kebabs in 1 minute 59 seconds? Is Johnny Two Kebabs just an urban legend? Is the song that was written about him and for which the video appears on the internet merely in the tradition of Irish blarney and storytelling? Now, for the first time Johnny has decided to recount his adventures and the events leading up to the historic achievement to which he owes his fame. The importance of Johnny's memoirs is beyond doubt as they establish him as one of the great ‘thinkers’ of modern times and they grant him the recognition he so justly deserves.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

As fate would have it, that day, Johnny was thinking about underpants. The fact was that Johnny didn’t have a large number of underpants, and he had recently been forced to admit to himself that some of his underwear was coming to the end of its useful life. He accepted this. He knew that all life consisted of a beginning, a period of expansion, a decline and then an end. Sometimes it was a short life and other times, as in the case of certain radioactive isotopes, the life could span thousands or millions of years, but one of life’s truths was that all life came to an end. That day, he entered his local department store and made his way to the men’s section.

Johnny was a classic ‘Y-fronts’ man. He believed that Y-fronts were a sign of manliness. He scoffed as he looked at the men’s underwear displayed in the shop. There were ‘boxer shorts,’ ‘slips’ and ‘trunks,’ but strangely enough, there were no Y-fronts anywhere to be found. He decided to approach a sales assistant. 

Excuse me, I can’t see any Y-fronts in the men’s underwear section. Do you have any in stock? Johnny asked. The sales assistant was a young man with pink hair and blue nail polish on his fingers. He seemed delighted to have been asked a question by Johnny.

I’m afraid we don’t stock Y-fronts anymore, sir. We do have boxer shorts and trunks and even slips. In fact, the slip is quite similar to Y-fronts. They just don’t have the Y-shaped opening at the front. They are more ‘pull down’ than ‘poke through,’ if you see what I mean. The assistant smiled as he said this.

But why did you stop doing Y-fronts? Johnny asked in an astonished tone of voice. Johnny has always been a Y-fronts man, they are the true classic. They're comfortable, they look good and they provide excellent support, which quite frankly is something that boxer shorts just do not offer. I admit that the boxers tend to allow more air to circulate around the genital area, but I just don’t believe that it makes up for the general lack of support, Johnny said.

Yes, quite frankly I agree with you there, sir, replied the assistant, but our stock tends to reflect current trends and customer demand. It's true that Y-fronts indeed have a sort of cult-like following, but most of the main department stores don’t sell them any more. It is possible, however, that you could find them online or in more specialised stores. Fashion preferences tend to change over time. Many traditional Y-front customers now opt for the slip, which tends to have a sleek and seamless look even when worn with tight jeans. When he made this last comment he seemed to look down in the direction of Johnny’s crotch.

How much does the slip cost? Johnny asked.

Well, a pack of three costs £15.99, replied the assistant.

No seriously, Johnny replied with a little laugh. The young man looked surprised.

Yes, £15.99 - but those are pure organic cotton slips of our own brand, he said. Johnny gaped at him as though he had been kicked in the stomach.

£15.99 – but that’s outrageous... He tried to cast his mind back to when he had last bought some Y-fronts and strangely enough, the only memory that came to him was a time his mother had bought him some for his final year in school. But £15.99? It just seemed an outrageous sum to Johnny for three pairs of underpants that didn’t even sport the ‘Y’ on the front. Should he try the slips?

Johnny stood looking at the sales assistant and then finally said, I’ll give you a tenner and that’s my final offer. The salesman seemed at first not quite to understand but then a look of comprehension spread across his face and he said,

I’m afraid, sir, I can’t modify the price of our articles, but we do sell single pairs of slips for £5.99 each, and with this he led Johnny to a shelf where ‘men’s underwear only £5.99’ was written on a small sign. The assistant again looked towards Johnny’s groin and said,

I think large should be a nice snug fit for you, sir. He took one out of its packet and displayed the black slip, putting it in front of his own trousers. Johnny looked down. The slip indeed looked quite nice. It was a sleek black item made of shiny fabric and Johnny had to admit that it was quite impressive and seemed to exude an air of authority.

Are they made of cotton? Johnny asked.

Actually, they're a mixture of cotton and elastane – that's what gives them such a lovely sheen, the assistant said.

Right, but I usually just wear cotton underwear. I believe other fabrics can irritate the skin, Johnny said.

Well, sir, I can tell you that I thought the same, but I now favour the mixture of cotton with elastane. I honestly believe that not only does it not irritate the skin, but it also makes the underwear smoother and in that way, they are less likely to chafe. He now lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial tone,

To be perfectly honest with you sir, my foreskin used to be prone to slight irritation and at times it even seemed to swell and turn a pinkish-red hue, but since I've switched to the cotton with elastane blend I haven’t had those problems. I also think that these underpants look a lot more expensive than they actually are.

Johnny now started to think more seriously about the purchase. OK, so £5.99 wasn’t cheap, but it was certainly cheaper than £15.99 and frankly he knew there was no fucking way he was going to pay that price. At the same time, for £5.99 he would only be getting one pair of underpants - but as they were black, stains would hardly be noticeable and possibly with the new fabric there would be less need than ever for regular washing. Johnny had a theory that modern man had become too obsessed with cleanliness and that this was, in fact, dangerous. It was a scientific fact that without regular contact with microbes and bacteria, the human immune system lost the ability to provide the necessary defences which staved off serious illnesses. A voice seemed to be narrating facts in Johnny's head - The average person contains billions of microbes and according to the priest who had taught Johnny’s class science back in Ireland, women were a walking Petri dish of potential infection. All of these thoughts went through his head, while at the same time, another voice was saying, Yes, but you could buy a kebab for that or maybe even a kebab and a can of lager. Another voice joined in saying You don’t need more underwear for fuck’s sake and yet another, with no attempt at subtlety stated simply - £5.99 is fucking robbery. Yes, but they do look good a new voice insisted, imagine what the females will think. The negative voices seemed to be in a majority but Johnny took one final look at the sleek dark slip and silenced them with a tone that let them know unequivocally that a decision had been taken.

Johnny’ll take a pair of these, he said.

Certainly, sir, just follow me to the cash register.

CHAPTER 1

A STUMP GUSHING BLOOD LIKE A GEYSER

Once again, Johnny asked himself the question: Would he be prepared to take life? That was a reality every officer had to face. Would he be ready to do it? It was only after looking deeply into one's soul that this question could be answered. It was one that every officer had to ask himself. Can I deal with that? Can I deal with the reality of having killed someone? Not on a theoretical basis, but having to wake up the next morning and eat breakfast after having blown someone's head clean off the previous evening? And equally, what about a sin of omission - e.g. what if his partner was killed because he hadn’t acted? (OK, he didn't have a partner, but what if?) If he had been too slow to shoot the ‘perp,’ could he live with that? Any situation had the potential to turn nasty, usually when one least expected it. Is that a baby that woman is holding, or is it a shotgun? - If you wear the badge, you gotta take the responsibility that goes with it  a voice inside his head   reminded him.

OK, so he wasn't actually a police officer, but then again as he always said, a cop was only a civilian in uniform. Would he pull the trigger when he had the ‘perp’ in the crosshairs, or would he be the one to leave his wife and small child behind while a colleague explained to them what had happened? (OK, so he wasn’t married and he didn’t have any kids, but that could change.) Could he leave his loved ones behind to grieve, or live with himself after having killed someone, even if that person were a hardened criminal? These were the questions that troubled him. It wasn't enough just to have the technical skill - the marksmanship - to kill someone. One also had to have the will to get the job done. Was it pleasant to see a stump gushing blood like a geyser in place of a head after it had just been blown off? No, it wasn't, but it was part of the job and the job involved some dirty work. Was he up to it? Johnny was convinced that one never really knew the answer to this question until faced with the reality of a life and death situation, and that for that reason it was probably best for an officer, if he were destined to take life, to do so early in his career.

These moral dilemmas had been going through Johnny's head since he had woken up 30 minutes earlier. He was musing on some of the finer points of ethical conduct when he heard the sound of the letterbox. He walked into the hall and picked up the package that had been pushed through. What could it be? And then he remembered that he had applied for a new passport. He opened it up and sure enough, the travel document with a harp proudly emblazoned on the cover stared him in the face. He felt a warm feeling of pride and satisfaction as he opened the cover and read inside, Iarrann Aire Gnóthaí Eachtracha agus Trádála na hÉireann etc. Beside this, the English translation had been printed: The Minister For Foreign Affairs and Trade of Ireland requests etc. He was delighted to see it written in Irish Gaelic, even though he only understood it because written beside it was the English translation. He hadn’t listened much in his Irish classes at school. 

He knew how lucky he was. Even though Johnny didn’t travel much outside of London, he knew that the Irish passport meant he could move freely in all 27 European Union countries. He could live and work without restrictions in any member state of the EU, a privilege that was no longer afforded to the bearer of a UK passport. Yes, he sighed with satisfaction at the idea that the holder of a UK passport would now have to join those of 'third' or 'non-EU' countries when in line at immigration to EU territories. It was also quite satisfying to know that the UK had lost significant clout on the world stage, particularly with the Yanks, as the UK could no longer try to influence EU policy as a member state but only as a 'third' country. Well, you've made your bed, now you can fuckin' well lie in it, Johnny muttered to himself. 

Waking in the morning knowing that he was the bearer of an Irish travel document never lost its novelty for Johnny. He had met people from many different countries in the world and had even visited one or two neighbouring European states, and much as he had admired certain things about these peoples and places, when measured against his homeland they were always found wanting. He looked again at the harp on the front of his passport. Yes, which country had won the Eurovision Song Contest more than any other? Which country had built practically more pubs overseas than in its very own territory? Johnny remembered how one day he had stated this in the ‘Auld Sod,’ his local pub, and had added, I’ll bet there’s even an Irish pub in Mongolia. A dubious client had questioned this, so it was settled there and then by someone consulting Google and sure enough, there were, in fact, not one but several Irish pubs in Ulan Bator, the capital of Mongolia. Frankly, Johnny believed that the rest of the world should be grateful to the Irish, and he particularly believed that the British had the most to be grateful for. The Irish labourer or ‘navvy’ had not only built large parts of Britain's infrastructure but they had, in the interests of exporting Irish cultural achievements, built thousands of pubs in Great Britain.

Johnny knew what he was missing by having left his home country. But he reminded himself of the sacred vow he had taken some time ago to fight evil wherever it reared its ugly head. This, of course, begged the question - what was evil? How could it be defined? One way would be to say that ‘whatever caused great pain to another, was intrinsically evil’ and by this yardstick, the ‘United’ Kingdom (since the referendums on Scottish independence and Brexit, Johnny liked to make ‘air quotes’ with his fingers when he said the ‘United’ part) had, in many ways, caused more pain and suffering to other nations than any other country. This the British had done through empire-building, which in Johnny’s opinion was just a euphemism for piracy. By this definition, England was the focus of evil in the world and Johnny was at its very heart. He sighed as he realised this unpleasant truth. It would be easy to feel self-pity, he thought, but another look at the harp on the front of his passport banished any thought of commiserating with himself. He knew truth and he knew reality. And the reality was that Johnny had to take a stand. And the truth was that fate had placed him where he now stood, at the heart of the rot, in the epicentre of evil's lair, where nothing was as it seemed, where truth was systematically twisted by the government to bamboozle the general populace and no one could be trusted: London.

CHAPTER 2

NAKED FROM THE WAIST DOWN

It was a chilly Wednesday morning. A breeze rustled through the trees and there was a light mist. The blue lights of police vehicles illuminated the Common, creating an eerie atmosphere of foreboding. Detective Inspector Jack Devon got out of his car and walked towards a group that had gathered nearby. He was met by a colleague who handed him a hot coffee in a styrofoam cup.

Where’s the victim? Devon asked.

Over here beside the public lavatory, the detective said.

OK, let’s take a look, Devon sighed and walked towards the public convenience. A small group had gathered beside the body and a police photographer was taking photographs. Devon knelt beside the corpse. The man’s throat had been cut open and a huge pool of blood was visible where the carotid artery had been severed.

Has the murder weapon been found? Devon asked the junior detective.

"No, nothing has been found, we have