Blown

Short Andy has reported on a tip-off he recieved from Mr. Charrington at the Village Shop. Charrington notes that Jonny B visited him on the day of the Buncefield explosion, and he suspects that this was merely aimed at establishing an alibi. When Charrington subtely dropped in a reference to the attack, story goes that JB looked awkward for a second, before quickly changing the subject.

I suspect that JB has had his hands all over this dirty plot.

A surprising visitor

I spot ex-village resident Jonny B entering the Village Pub. I creep in behind him, closing the door quietly. The bar is busier than usual. Jonny and the LTLP slide into a booth.

I attract the Chipper Barman's attention with a conspirital wink.

"Busy today," I enquire.

"Oh yes", says the Chipper Barman, "we have a VIP visiting. Anne Widdicombe. You know, from Celebrity Fit Club."

This news shocks me to the very core. I glance at Jonny and see him fidgeting nervously in his seat. On the seat beside him, sits a snooker-cue case, latches already open.

I bolt for the door, dart round the back, crash through the kitchen and fling myself into the Private Lounge. Widders is there, apparently not yet dead, tucking heartily into a rack of ribs. I consider telling her that the Ceasar Salad is a better option for those looking to lose a few pounds, but think better of it. I throw my arm around her and we dash from the Lounge. Outside her limo driver sees my signal, I throw her into the back of the car, and they scream away.

I hurry back into the pub.

Jonny and the LTLP have vanished.

Gone

We only had a couple of hours notice.

One day he was busy catching and dismembering rodents, the next he decides that his house is not up to scratch, and he must move out whilst repairs are made. He crashes around the house like a hurricane, throwing possessions into boxes with a gay abandon. He says that he will come back for the grand piano...I tell him I will look after it whilst he is gone.

"When will you be back?" I ask.

"Next year," he mutters. "Some time next year."

Thankfully my quick-wittedness has saved the day. I am able to pass surveillance onto another agent, codename "Short Andy". He will file regular reports whilst the subject is out-of-village.

On Len the Fish

Len the Fish has been supplying the Kings Lynn area with high-class illegal substances for nigh on fifteen years.

Whatever you want, crack, smack, cake, amphetemines, pot: Len the Fish is your man. We first became aware of him in the early nineties, when he bumped off Alan "Big Smoke" Smith in a disused swimming pool in downtown Fakenham. Rumour goes, they were under the surface of that pool for three whole minutes trying to get the better of one another. Only one man came to the surface that day, and that's how Len came by his empire, and his nickname.

Since then, Len has expanded his operations and is now a major international drugs baron. Shipments arrive regularly at his base in Cromer, from where they're disseminated all over the UK. The government has never been able to nail Len. His web of lies is tangled so deep that no-one has ever been able to find the bottom.

I spot him handing JB a massive reefer under the counter at the village pub. The thought of busting the biggest dealer this side of Peterbrough is appealing, but I can't afford to blow my cover. "No charge", Len announces, smiling.

Yep, the first one is always free, isn't it.

On JB's arrival

JB has a bonfire (a small, city-type bonfire without any petrol to really get the thing going), and it got me thinking about when he arrived in the village.

The LTLP arrived first, a kind of advance-party to check us all out, I guess. It's fair to say we hit it off straight away. Within two hours of her moving in she had got me horribly, incapably drunk. I was naked, smeared with chocolate sauce, thinking in what a strange direction life can sometimes take you, when she told me that she's not a naturally outgoing sort of woman. I could see that. Behind her Dominatrix personna she had the kind of quiet, dimunitive nature that .

Jonny arrived the next day, all bumbling Fawlty-esque mannerisms.

"Hello," I say, "you'll be the new neighbour then".

"Yes, that's me. Billericay. That's my name. Not where I'm from. I'm not from Billericay. Although I have been there once or twice. It's quite pleasant really and has a good Conservative MP. What was I saying? Ah yes. Jonny, you can call me Jonny. That's not really my name though. But, new start and all that. Toodlepip."

He really does play the part of socially-awkward eccentric very well.

With a final flourish he turns and saunters into the cottage. It was only later I found out he was a highly-dangerous international terrorist.

Action (Jackson)

I am getting thoroughly pissed off with this whole "wait and see what Jonny does" approach that Those In Charge keep foisting on me. I could be here for years. I don't want to be here for years, I want to be back in the big time, back in the City, back in amongst the murder and drugs and prostitution and vice and dirt and grime and I want to FINISH this crappy assignment in the backend of nowhere and get back to the real job of fighting crime like they do on The Bill.

Positive action is what is required.

I concoct a honey-trap. A sting. A foolproof way of getting Jonny to reveal his criminal leanings.

Unfortunately my plan involves offing an old man, but we must regard this as collateral damage. After I have horribly slaughtered an old chap I follow home from the Post Office, I employ my skills for disguise to rustle up a convincing replica of his face. I take his cash card and withdraw the paltry sum he has saved, drive his Nissan Micra to Jonny's house and settle down to wait. Not long has passed before Jonny departs, scratching his private parts like a common baboon. I follow him into town, stay at a safe distance until he enters the chemist, and then I'm out and into the street, sporting a limp and a bent back in what is a downright brilliant Kaiser Soze impression.

Jonny is at the counter, dribbling over a semi-attractive checkout girl. I prod him with my walking stick, loudly mention the old fart's PIN code, then pull him close and say, "it's a beautiful day today, sonny. Such a beautiful day. You look after yourself now. I fought during the war for you." But my ruse fails. I fumble the cash card just as I'm about to tuck it in his back pocket. It lays on the chemist floor, staring up at me, mocking me, just sitting there with my hopes and dreams of getting out of here all wrapped up in it.

I shuffle out. I do not need to put on the hobble this time, I feel like a broken man.

Wibble

I fear that Jonny has finally lost it.

For two days I've been watching him. Most of that time he has been sitting on the toilet, dressed in only his pants, with a loaded rifle by his side. He looks increasingly gaunt, he's grown a small beard, and he seems to be mumbling about killer rabbits.

One thing is for sure, that gun will be either turned on himself, or the next person to turn up at his house. There is only one thing to do.

I send Mrs Short Tony around for a cup of sugar.

Surveillance report

It's been some months now since I rigged Jonny's house up to record his every move. There's been some very suspicious activity in that house, oh yes.

First on the list is the peculiar cast of characters that Jonny keeps close to him at night. There seem to be three of these furry beasts:

Mister Mitt - an obvious anagram of Tits Met Rim.
Peter the Hanging Monkey - A clear reference to Hartlepool, is this where the terrorist attack is planned for?
Honey Bear - probably nothing more than a sex toy; clear anagram of Boner, Yeah.

What's so valuable about these cuddly toys that he has to keep them within arms reach at all times? More observation is required.

The camera in the kitchen has yielded even stranger results. Last week I captured him having sex with what appeared to be the remains of a stuffed sheep's heart. I couldn't help drop into conversation the fact that I have a camera in there. You should have seen that little sucker scouring his kitchen trying to find it! Second light-fitting from the door, Jonny, have a look there and you might get more success.

Unfortunately I have no hard proof of what Jonny may be planning.