I moved over to where Dodgy Barry was lurking.

“Remember to speak clearly” called Forkwitt. Dodgy Barry looked at me as if I was in some way peculiar.

“What’s going on?” he asked, rightly suspicious of myself and Constable Forkwitt.

“He is a police officer and he is forcing me to buy drugs from you” I whispered. “But I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“You sell me some drugs for the previously agreed price and then help me escape” I explained.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t understand” I said, mystified.

“What do I get in return?”

“You would be assisting Dennis Brent” I explained, slowly and clearly as I could see he was hard of thinking.

“Three hundred quid and I’ll show you where the fire exit is” he suggested.

“I can see it – it’s the door with “Fire Exit” over the top in illuminated lettering” I told him.

“Two hundred and fifty and I’ll throw in a small distraction.”

“I’ll have to write you a cheque.”

“It’s Barry with two Y’s”

“Surname?”

“That is my surname. And it’s Dodgy with two D’s”

“Right.”

He handed me two small tablets. They were pink and each had a letter J on them (which means they wouldn’t be popular with Daleks <g>). I put them in a small side pocket of my satchel and signalled to Dodgy Barry that I would like my small distraction now.

“Fire” said Dodgy Barry in his normal voice. He pointed limply over to the Ascot Tribute Cabinet before turning back to me.

“That wasn’t a distraction” I protested. “I paid a hundred pounds for that. I want my money back.”

“You can’t have it” he said, becoming surly as if at a book signing and he’d been told he was only allowed one personal item when he’d been told be a friend that two small items were permissible in place of one larger piece. He pushed me hard in the chest. I wobbled slightly and swung my satchel at his head. He teetered before falling into a rack of rather nasty “baseball” caps. The stand fell on top of Constable Forkwitt and this gave me my chance to dash for freedom. In the confusion I lost my bearings and couldn’t find the emergency exit. Someone must’ve touched my glasses because there were fingerprints all over them. I called out to Dodgy Barry for directions but he just told me to “***** off” (at least I think that’s what he said). I took my glasses off, polished them on my Bendaton Grammar School tie and replaced them. I soon located the exit and rushed towards it, only tripping over my feet twice.

I was panting behind the band stand exhibition (my cunning mind telling me that the last place Constable Forkwitt would think of looking was the next place he had on his list) when my mobile telephone rang for the first time. I had been dead set against owning such an item until an occasion on which Ian Devine got a nine minute head start on a second hand book shop which contained a volume which had once been owned by Peter Glaze and contained several authenticated stains. It was his ownership of a mobile telephone which gave him the advantage and I resolved there and then not to let the situation arise again. And now the thing was ringing. I had purchased it via Ian Devine and as a practical pleasantry he had set it up so that it played the theme tune to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".

”Hello – This is Dennis Brent, Britain’s leading telehistorian. Tall chap with a moustache.”

“Mr Brent? This is Nigel Gusset.”

“Nigel – how is my “font” coming along?”

“I’m ringing to say it’s finished and you can come and pick it up whenever you want.”

“Excellent my boy – you’ve done very well. Please accept my most hearty congratulations.”

“Nigel will borrow your most hearty congratulations” said Mrs Gusset.

“Mum – stop listening in on my calls. I’m nearly sixteen. I might be talking to a girl.”

“If you say so, Nigel. Goodbye Mr Brent. Borrow a good day.”

“I’ll pop round this evening if I may” I told him.

“See you then.”

I crossed another bridge off my mental list. This was all going terribly well.

“What a nice boy” said Mr Grade through my earpiece. “I think he deserves a reward.”

“What?”

“He’s on the list. You’ve got to give him something nice for Christmas too or it’s boom time.”

“You’re changing the rules, Mr Grade. It’s just like the time I played Monopoly with Ian Devine and he ate three of my hotels and half of London while I visited the lavatory. He then tried to claim we were playing the Luftwaffe version of the game.”

“I’m allowed to change the rules – I’ve got a bomb.”

“Fair comment” I conceded.

16:59:58

16:59:59