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Chapter Three - A Confusing Riddle

Tuesday 9.45am

A white walled room somewhere
Well, thatís the understatement of the decade, I think. For those of you who ainít sure whatís a goiní on, join the club, and pay your subscription. Minís a scotch on the rocks, which is precisely where I am. On the rocks. Not in Scotland. So, I gets warned off Valdez, while at the same time, Iím told to watch out for an Icelandic guy, who my not-as-sharp-as-a-lump-o-cork side kick tells me is a Scientist. The Scientist runs a farm full o geneticised wonder beings in town somewhere, and heís a lookiní for assistance, because his geneticly perfect super-beasts (Iíve heard tell that theyíre somethiní like that broad on TV only with better legs, and itís all real, and the guys look like a right bunch of fairies) are perfect in every way - looks, brains, biceps, even got a bigger soul than you or I, (souls not beiní the most important thing in my line oí work - detection - or my line oí leisure - broads and booze) - but these wonder beings ainít so good against colds or the flu. Turns out they die when exposed to either. A right bunch of lightweights. At least thatís what my assistant told me on the phone the other day.

I, meanwhile, have been keeping very busy - Valdez said to investigate the Icelandic guy, some professor, only I didnít know where to begin. And then what should appear? Well, nothing as it turns out. But, weíve now got a mystery without a mystery and with three separate points of interest. On the one hand, thereís Valdez, fishier than a three week old halibut and twice as oily, then thereís Professor Lars Von Bastardson, our Icelandic Megalomaniac geneticist, then thereís these real scumbags Iíve begun to notice. Only, there ainít just one bunch of scumbags, thereís two. Firstly, weíve got these redneck hillbillys, who supply all the best Beanie, including this here bottle Iím drinking now, and then weíve got this gang, ho I can only call lunatics, which is lucky Ďcause they go by the name of The Loonies. Run by a few nutters. Lunatics who took over the asylum. Now how they piece together I donít know, but my assistantís got a theory - he reckons itís due to this stuff Zoom Zoom - apparently ol Bastardson used to work at Zaibatsu, and the mutants he builds are particularly susceptible to the water supply if itís got any traces of Zoom Zoom in it, making them very keen on the mutant broads and thereby ruining the asexual genetically driven reporduction which Lars favours. At the same time, these Loonies canít get enough of the stuff (Zoom Zoom, not sex, although it turns out they canít get enough of that either), while the rednecks, with their beanie moonshine are threatening the sales of Zoom Zoom all over town. And the Loonies love Beanie too. Anyway, thatís my assistantís theory. Reckons we might be being set up because the government want to ban Zoom Zoom, while the Zaibatsu want to kill the Rednecks, and destroy their beanie sills. So, Mr. Straight laced Senator whoís due to pay a visit to town in a few days is going to get killed in a massive bomb in the trailer park, were the rednecks live, and weíre being set up as eco-terrorists. Well, blow me with a three year old hoover. Sounds a lot of stuff and nonsense.

Now, as for me, Iím in a spot of trouble. In a white cell. No visible means of escape. All from when I decided to go and pay these Loonies, and their boos, Gov. J. Rotten, a visit, and being ever so polite, they gave me what they called an Executive relief Cocktail. Well, I can take me drink, but that, according to the system clock was three days agoÖ It seemde like a good idea at the time. Now, whereís that assistant of mine.