Inspector Thumb and the Porn Stars
1 - 20 of 22 Posts
Well, you know what they say about mantlepieces - "You don't look at the mantlepiece when you're poking the fire!"
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
Mark.
GET YER COAT
Mark.
GET YER COAT
Just to let you know I've found it, so no need to keep looking, fellas. Turns out Howmet jnr. half-inched it from the mantlepiece, and printed up 500 copies on the school Xerox. He was selling them in the playground for jelly babies. He's been excluded for a week- some snotty parent found a copy in their son's satchel, and now the Howmet family is in disgrace. Had to go and see the headteacher myself. Not a pleasant experience.
So- Howmet jnr's grounded, but he's hiding in the shed. If I can get the originals back off him....
So- Howmet jnr's grounded, but he's hiding in the shed. If I can get the originals back off him....
As you might know, the legendary lost episode of West Hamley Tales, entitled 'Inspector Thumb and the Porn Stars' has now been recovered, and partially restored by a team of experts (Mrs H and myself). The original script was in quite a poor state, having been circulated round the playground at St.Ain's School, fed through the school photocopier (which is inclined to jam) several times, and subjected to other harmful environments. Many of the pages have had to be prised apart with steam, several words are obscured, and some whole passages are now missing altogether. I truly feel that any attempt to guess at, or try to recreate these missing sentences would compromise the artistic integrity of this historic document, but in view of the level of interest already shown, I will now post the script as found, hoping that keen fans of Slot Racing's only soap will be able to piece together the gist of the story.
Enjoy. But not too much.
Enjoy. But not too much.
G
Guest
·Thomas should fill in the missing parts as it was his idea
![]()
RR
RR
Inspector Thumb and the Porn Stars
An everyday story of slot racing folk
Coxie Cooper-Archer tapped his biro on the table and coughed lightly. 'Last item on the agenda. Then we can close the A.G.M...' '.....And get on with some racing' grunted Clint.
But it was not to be. The last item on the agenda caused quite a stir.
'I have a letter here from a Mr Bater. It's quite an interesting proposition. Perhaps I'd better read it out in full. Ahem.'
'Dear Sir
In view of the huge upsurge of interest in Scalextrix Racing we here at One-Handed Films are keen to get a project underway. We have in mind a dramatic film, set in a Scalextrix club such as your own, capturing the full, naked drama of a night at the track and featuring some of our popular cast of adult actresses. We have already prepared a script from one of our premier writers, Steaming King, entitled 'Deep Slot- Stars An Stripes'. Our top director, Alfred Hewjcock, is very excited and anxious to begin shooting as soon as possible. All we now need is the location. We are sure that the success of this project depends on the co-operation of a top outfit like yours to give it the class we at One-Handed Films pride ourselves on. I'm sure you will be familiar with our work which will need no introduction to well-informed and cultured persons such as yourselves. There will be minimal disruption to your schedules, and we anticipate having the whole shoot in the can in one afternoon. Our budget is, as usual, enormous, but due to pre-production cost accountancy tax issues, we are not able to offer upfront cash for the use of your facilities, but can promise free copies of the finished video, good rates on any DVDs from our catalogue to your club members, and the opportunity for your better-looking guys to take small parts in the film.
We look forward to hearing from you at your earliest,
Derek Bater, production manager, owner and director, One-Handed Films (UK) ltd.
Well, ladies and gents, what do you think?'
There was a stunned silence for a short while. Could Coxie really be asking this?
Lil Cooper-Archer spoke up first. 'Well, he can't spell Scalextric, can he? And we're not a Scalextric club. We're a Slot Racing club. There IS a difference.'
'Well, he's a film producer, not a slot racer, that's obvious. It's a common mistake.' Coxie replied.
'Well, It's not just that- the whole letter is very badly typed- I mean, 'Steaming' King- Alfred Hewjcock- surely he means Stephen, and- and Hitchcock. But wait a minute. He's dead. I'm sorry, Coxie. I don't understand.'
Bruno broke in- 'I don't like this Americanisation of everything. We're the top British Club- why do we have to pretend to be Yanks?'
'Now I don't understand' said Coxie. Where do you get that idea?'
'Well- the title is Stars and Stripes, isn't it? All American imperialist flag-waving I bet.'
'No no no' said Coxie anxiously 'My fault- I didn't read it clearly enough. Look. The title is a bit confusing. It's called ''Deep Slot'', and stars an actress called Anne Stripes.'
'Anne Stripes?' yelped someone from the back of the room.
'Oh good. Have you heard of her?' asked Coxie.
'Wow. Yeah. Um. No. No. I meant no. Never seen her at all. Maybe a few bits of... but no. Sorry. What was the name again?' The anonymous voice petered out.
'Deep Slot, eh? Well, they'll need the wooden club track then, not the Ninco layout' said Eric.
'At least they're adult actresses. I hate those films with lots of children in. Like Bugger Malone. And the Hounds of Music. Precocious whining little brats' continued Lil, obliviously.
There was a lot of fidgetting going on around the club room. A bit of smirking and a few odd hand gestures.
'I've always wanted to be an extra' piped up Sergeant Argent. 'I'm sure I've got just the right outfit in my wardrobe....' 'I'm not having one of my senior officers prancing around on film' said Inspector Thumb, sourly. 'But if it's a detective film, I could always be on hand to offer my expertise, I suppose. My presence in the dramatic proceedings might add some authority and realism...'
Finally Coxie asked the question everyone had been anticipating.
'Has anyone here actually heard of Mr Bater and One-Handed Films? Seen any of them? I'm afraid Lil and I havn't been to the cinema for years...'
You could have heard a body-fastening pin drop. Then Clint spoke up.
'Old Sid Alnight at ''24 hr. Vids and Discs'' on the High Street has a back room full of them. You might ask him.'
'Excellent idea!' said Coxie eagerly. 'Shall we all go? Now? It's got a little late for racing tonight anyway. Who's for a few videos and a curry round at mine?'
An everyday story of slot racing folk
Coxie Cooper-Archer tapped his biro on the table and coughed lightly. 'Last item on the agenda. Then we can close the A.G.M...' '.....And get on with some racing' grunted Clint.
But it was not to be. The last item on the agenda caused quite a stir.
'I have a letter here from a Mr Bater. It's quite an interesting proposition. Perhaps I'd better read it out in full. Ahem.'
'Dear Sir
In view of the huge upsurge of interest in Scalextrix Racing we here at One-Handed Films are keen to get a project underway. We have in mind a dramatic film, set in a Scalextrix club such as your own, capturing the full, naked drama of a night at the track and featuring some of our popular cast of adult actresses. We have already prepared a script from one of our premier writers, Steaming King, entitled 'Deep Slot- Stars An Stripes'. Our top director, Alfred Hewjcock, is very excited and anxious to begin shooting as soon as possible. All we now need is the location. We are sure that the success of this project depends on the co-operation of a top outfit like yours to give it the class we at One-Handed Films pride ourselves on. I'm sure you will be familiar with our work which will need no introduction to well-informed and cultured persons such as yourselves. There will be minimal disruption to your schedules, and we anticipate having the whole shoot in the can in one afternoon. Our budget is, as usual, enormous, but due to pre-production cost accountancy tax issues, we are not able to offer upfront cash for the use of your facilities, but can promise free copies of the finished video, good rates on any DVDs from our catalogue to your club members, and the opportunity for your better-looking guys to take small parts in the film.
We look forward to hearing from you at your earliest,
Derek Bater, production manager, owner and director, One-Handed Films (UK) ltd.
Well, ladies and gents, what do you think?'
There was a stunned silence for a short while. Could Coxie really be asking this?
Lil Cooper-Archer spoke up first. 'Well, he can't spell Scalextric, can he? And we're not a Scalextric club. We're a Slot Racing club. There IS a difference.'
'Well, he's a film producer, not a slot racer, that's obvious. It's a common mistake.' Coxie replied.
'Well, It's not just that- the whole letter is very badly typed- I mean, 'Steaming' King- Alfred Hewjcock- surely he means Stephen, and- and Hitchcock. But wait a minute. He's dead. I'm sorry, Coxie. I don't understand.'
Bruno broke in- 'I don't like this Americanisation of everything. We're the top British Club- why do we have to pretend to be Yanks?'
'Now I don't understand' said Coxie. Where do you get that idea?'
'Well- the title is Stars and Stripes, isn't it? All American imperialist flag-waving I bet.'
'No no no' said Coxie anxiously 'My fault- I didn't read it clearly enough. Look. The title is a bit confusing. It's called ''Deep Slot'', and stars an actress called Anne Stripes.'
'Anne Stripes?' yelped someone from the back of the room.
'Oh good. Have you heard of her?' asked Coxie.
'Wow. Yeah. Um. No. No. I meant no. Never seen her at all. Maybe a few bits of... but no. Sorry. What was the name again?' The anonymous voice petered out.
'Deep Slot, eh? Well, they'll need the wooden club track then, not the Ninco layout' said Eric.
'At least they're adult actresses. I hate those films with lots of children in. Like Bugger Malone. And the Hounds of Music. Precocious whining little brats' continued Lil, obliviously.
There was a lot of fidgetting going on around the club room. A bit of smirking and a few odd hand gestures.
'I've always wanted to be an extra' piped up Sergeant Argent. 'I'm sure I've got just the right outfit in my wardrobe....' 'I'm not having one of my senior officers prancing around on film' said Inspector Thumb, sourly. 'But if it's a detective film, I could always be on hand to offer my expertise, I suppose. My presence in the dramatic proceedings might add some authority and realism...'
Finally Coxie asked the question everyone had been anticipating.
'Has anyone here actually heard of Mr Bater and One-Handed Films? Seen any of them? I'm afraid Lil and I havn't been to the cinema for years...'
You could have heard a body-fastening pin drop. Then Clint spoke up.
'Old Sid Alnight at ''24 hr. Vids and Discs'' on the High Street has a back room full of them. You might ask him.'
'Excellent idea!' said Coxie eagerly. 'Shall we all go? Now? It's got a little late for racing tonight anyway. Who's for a few videos and a curry round at mine?'
G
Guest
·come on tx, don't keep us in suspenders any longer!
RR
RR
(quite a long passage here is unreadable- unidentifiable liquid has made the ink run. It picks up again here......)
...the last video out of the machine and sat down again next to Lil. 'My my. Things have certainly moved on since the last film we went to see together, eh Lil? Brief Encounter wasn't as saucy as these! But what splendidly healthy and attractive young people!'
Lil stood up a little shakily and started collecting together all the empty curry trays.
'Oh Coxie! Where is everyone?'
'They all went off home, love. Must have been tired or something. Come here- are there any you'd like to see again?'
'Oh yes! All those ones with Johnny Deep in. He's very nice. Do you think he'll be in our film, Coxie love?'
'Maybe, maybe. I liked those travel films best- this one..'
Coxie rummaged through the 'Sid's Vids' cartons and pulled out one with a shaky hand. 'Yes.. let me read the title again... 'Double Dutch'! That was good. And this one, too- 'Two Lips from Amsterdam'. Very athletic young ladies. Ballet trained I expect. They have to be double-jointed to do that you know. And this one I liked very much, '****** Larks'. Very good. Remarkably imaginative young ladies, managing to entertain each other like that when their daft boyfriends missed their flight. Certainly didn't spoil their holiday! Just the sort of resourcefulness I admire, and which seems to be missing in so many youngsters these days. I expect they learn that sort of thing in the Girl Guides. Did you dear? I know you got badges for all sorts of things, you clever thing you.'
'Find me that Johnny Deep one and shut up, Coxie.'
'Edward Scissorglands' was it dear? Here it is. Not quite my cup of tea. I'm off to write a letter to that nice Mr Bater to see when he'd like to visit the club. Think of it, Lil- We're all going to be Film Stars!'
'I'll need to order some more of those purple tablets from Dr Feelgood for you in that case, Coxie.'
...the last video out of the machine and sat down again next to Lil. 'My my. Things have certainly moved on since the last film we went to see together, eh Lil? Brief Encounter wasn't as saucy as these! But what splendidly healthy and attractive young people!'
Lil stood up a little shakily and started collecting together all the empty curry trays.
'Oh Coxie! Where is everyone?'
'They all went off home, love. Must have been tired or something. Come here- are there any you'd like to see again?'
'Oh yes! All those ones with Johnny Deep in. He's very nice. Do you think he'll be in our film, Coxie love?'
'Maybe, maybe. I liked those travel films best- this one..'
Coxie rummaged through the 'Sid's Vids' cartons and pulled out one with a shaky hand. 'Yes.. let me read the title again... 'Double Dutch'! That was good. And this one, too- 'Two Lips from Amsterdam'. Very athletic young ladies. Ballet trained I expect. They have to be double-jointed to do that you know. And this one I liked very much, '****** Larks'. Very good. Remarkably imaginative young ladies, managing to entertain each other like that when their daft boyfriends missed their flight. Certainly didn't spoil their holiday! Just the sort of resourcefulness I admire, and which seems to be missing in so many youngsters these days. I expect they learn that sort of thing in the Girl Guides. Did you dear? I know you got badges for all sorts of things, you clever thing you.'
'Find me that Johnny Deep one and shut up, Coxie.'
'Edward Scissorglands' was it dear? Here it is. Not quite my cup of tea. I'm off to write a letter to that nice Mr Bater to see when he'd like to visit the club. Think of it, Lil- We're all going to be Film Stars!'
'I'll need to order some more of those purple tablets from Dr Feelgood for you in that case, Coxie.'
A quick exchange of letters followed, and Derek Bater and the crew of One-Handed Films ltd. were due at the club next Friday week. The membership of West Hamley Slot Car Club rose dramatically when news got out, and everyone seemed happy with Coxie's decision. Betty's beauty shop on the Parade, and 'Something for the Weekend' barber shop developed permanent queues. Greasy John's Gents Outfitters sold right out of underpants. Everyone in town was excited at the thought of meeting such stars as Anne Stripes, Gloria Stitz, Butterfly Valve and Babs 'Blower' Bentley in the flesh. Lil Cooper-Archer was happy. Johnny Deep was sure to be there she felt, and Sergeant Argent was preparing his bedside table every night, and rocking himself to sleep in thoughts of his own favourite One-Handed Films actor, Dick 'Trailing' Link. Other club members contented themselves by polishing their chassis vigorously, touching up their bodies, and carrying out some careful lubrication in hopes that their cars would be featured in the epic track action promised by the director.
There were some dissenters though. Since the Rev Counter had been arrested for the uncharacteristically brutal murder of the dinner ladies, Wilson, Kepple and Betty at the last 24-hour club race, there was a new regime in St Ains Parish. The new incumbent was Canon Fodder, with his assistant Pastor Eyes. They came from a fundamentalist evangelical background. And they were committed railway modellers. How the diocese had come to impose such horrifically inappropriate priests on the happily amoral and slot-centred parish of West Hamley was dismissed as just one of those mysterious ways that the big fella moved.
But no-one was quite prepared for the welcome awaiting them on the Thursday night practice session. As Coxie approached the door of the club on that dark evening, the key in his hand and several excited club members behind him happily swinging their pit-boxes, they became aware of a glowing presence. As they neared the porch and their eyes became accustomed to the dark, two hooded figures became apparent, half-hidden by flames.
'Doom, doom, doom! The sins of the flesh are upon ye! The flames of hell await ye transgressors! Accursed be the naughty carryings on of silly Scalextric racers!'
'We're not Scalextric racers, we're Slot.. Ouch!'
Coxie stopped as Canon Fodder brought his flaming cross down on his balding forehead.
'Oi!'
'Pastor Eyes and myself are off back to the Parsonage. We have some work to do on our bogies tonight. And we have to run the 22.30 from Little Minge to Slackpart. Our HO layout always runs on time. Discipline! It's what keeps the heart pure and the parts clean. But don't say ye havnae been warned! Turn away from the temptations of the flesh!'
With that, the two sinister figures doused their crosses in a bucket and headed off back across West Hamley Green.
'Damn. I've dropped the key.' said Coxie. 'Ah. Here we are. Right. Usual rules. Two hour free practice. Bruno's turn on the computer. Draw for lanes, then a quick twenty-lapper before the pub. OK ladies and gents?'
'I think you need a bandage on your forehead, Coxie.'
'Probably. But Lil and I are going to do a bit of tidying up. We want everything nice for Mr Bater and his stars on Friday. Inspector! Good to see you. What's this?'
Inspector Thumb hefted a huge bundle of papers, tied up and fastened with a wax seal, into Coxies hands.
'It's my case files, Coxie. I thought you and I might go through them to find some good ones for Mr Bater's script writers to work on. I've heard that Steaming King is pretty good. There's bound to be a few murders in this film- all the films I've ever seen have at least seven. So I brought these along. I can't act without the right motivation. Recreating my most famous cases might be the best thing, don't you think? Now I can just imagine Babs Bentley as the victim in 'the Case of the Skewered Scrutineer'- and Phil McCavity as the spongie wielding psycopath in 'Death by Wintergreen'.
'Yes! By George! And how about Paul Harder as Difflock in 'Difflock, Stock, and Two Smoking Nincos'?
There were some dissenters though. Since the Rev Counter had been arrested for the uncharacteristically brutal murder of the dinner ladies, Wilson, Kepple and Betty at the last 24-hour club race, there was a new regime in St Ains Parish. The new incumbent was Canon Fodder, with his assistant Pastor Eyes. They came from a fundamentalist evangelical background. And they were committed railway modellers. How the diocese had come to impose such horrifically inappropriate priests on the happily amoral and slot-centred parish of West Hamley was dismissed as just one of those mysterious ways that the big fella moved.
But no-one was quite prepared for the welcome awaiting them on the Thursday night practice session. As Coxie approached the door of the club on that dark evening, the key in his hand and several excited club members behind him happily swinging their pit-boxes, they became aware of a glowing presence. As they neared the porch and their eyes became accustomed to the dark, two hooded figures became apparent, half-hidden by flames.
'Doom, doom, doom! The sins of the flesh are upon ye! The flames of hell await ye transgressors! Accursed be the naughty carryings on of silly Scalextric racers!'
'We're not Scalextric racers, we're Slot.. Ouch!'
Coxie stopped as Canon Fodder brought his flaming cross down on his balding forehead.
'Oi!'
'Pastor Eyes and myself are off back to the Parsonage. We have some work to do on our bogies tonight. And we have to run the 22.30 from Little Minge to Slackpart. Our HO layout always runs on time. Discipline! It's what keeps the heart pure and the parts clean. But don't say ye havnae been warned! Turn away from the temptations of the flesh!'
With that, the two sinister figures doused their crosses in a bucket and headed off back across West Hamley Green.
'Damn. I've dropped the key.' said Coxie. 'Ah. Here we are. Right. Usual rules. Two hour free practice. Bruno's turn on the computer. Draw for lanes, then a quick twenty-lapper before the pub. OK ladies and gents?'
'I think you need a bandage on your forehead, Coxie.'
'Probably. But Lil and I are going to do a bit of tidying up. We want everything nice for Mr Bater and his stars on Friday. Inspector! Good to see you. What's this?'
Inspector Thumb hefted a huge bundle of papers, tied up and fastened with a wax seal, into Coxies hands.
'It's my case files, Coxie. I thought you and I might go through them to find some good ones for Mr Bater's script writers to work on. I've heard that Steaming King is pretty good. There's bound to be a few murders in this film- all the films I've ever seen have at least seven. So I brought these along. I can't act without the right motivation. Recreating my most famous cases might be the best thing, don't you think? Now I can just imagine Babs Bentley as the victim in 'the Case of the Skewered Scrutineer'- and Phil McCavity as the spongie wielding psycopath in 'Death by Wintergreen'.
'Yes! By George! And how about Paul Harder as Difflock in 'Difflock, Stock, and Two Smoking Nincos'?
'Brilliant, brilliant, Coxie! There could even be a part for you as the man with the tongs! Remember when Difflock bent over during the F1 race? Aha! Never turn your back on a Lotus 72 that's run out of brakes!'
'Yes, yes, Inspector, but what about the part where all the ladies take off their clothes?'
'Well, that's not our department, Coxie. Mr Bater should be able to take care of that. What we need to do is work up the script, set the scene in the club, and wait for One-Handed Films to arrive! This will put Scotland Yard's Slot Car Division on the map! ''Inspector Thumb meets the Porn Stars!'' I can see it now. Promotion. Maybe my own late night Channel 4 programme- 'Throw a punch at Jonathan Ross'. That would be very popular, I feel. Argent! Come here. You can be Difflock. Coxie, you get the tongs, and Lil, you can stand in for Gloria Stitz. I shall go outside and prepare my entrance'
'Here, sir. You'll need some of this.'
'Shut up Argent.'
The sense of excitement grew to fever pitch as Friday drew nearer. Phat Larry's Pharmacy in Shoot-up Street sold out of tissues, and extra plumbing had to be installed in the club, as everyone worked night and day to make the appropriate preparations for the arrival of the cast and crew. Every member of West Hamley Slot Car Club stood to attention as the fleet of cars began to arrive. Two Merc off-roaders with blacked out one-way windows rolled down the high street towards the club. They slewed to a halt, and a window rolled down. A cigar emerged, followed by a huge pair of mirrored aviator shades and a fat red face.
'Any of you guys Coxie?'
'Yes, yes! Mr Bater, I presume! Pleased to meet you!'
'Yeah, yeah. Nice name, Coxie. Mind if I borrow it for a character?'
'Ah-oh-uhm- not at all not at all. Please come in. I expect the rest of your entourage will be here later?'
'Nah, nah- this is it, Coxie. Blind Al here handles the digi-cam, Beethoven here's our sound man, and Flash rigs the lights. Johnny and the girls are in the other....'
No-one waited to hear the rest. There was a swooshing sound like a huge hoover as the entire population of West Hamley rushed from Bater's car to the other. Cameras were popping already at the blackened windows. Argent began to unroll a red carpet from the front passenger door to the club. Lil was clawing at the driver's door handle, and Clint seemed to be jammed against the exhaust pipe in a very uncomfortable position. Finally the tailgate lifted slowly, opened from within. The roaring, whooping crowd stepped back a little as Babs 'Blower' Bentley emerged, unfolding her legs like a young mantis crawling out of its chryslais. She bobbed a little in several places, straightened her hair, and loosened a couple of buttons on her- well, you couldn't really call it a blouse. There was a collective sigh from the citizens of West Hamley. Not to be outdone, Butterfly Valve followed quickly, plucking at the hem of her- well, you couldn't call that a skirt, either. Eric just keeled over at that point. But the two preening girls were pushed rudely apart as Gloria Stitz climbed out of the car. Well, it was fake fur, but you couldn't really call it a coat. And it only had one button. How it stayed together was anyone's guess, although in fact most people were hoping that it wouldn't. You see, it was plainly obvious that the silly girl had completely forgotten to put anything on underneath it! Dangerous quantities of drool were by now collecting on the pavement, but even Gloria's moment in the spotlight was eclipsed as Francine Stock and Kirsty Wark, the notorious 'late night lovers', appeared simultaneously from the Merc, their arms sinuously entwined and their matching patent leather bikinis twinkling in the afternoon sun. It was too much for Bruno, who simply folded up, sobbing gently to himself.
How much room was there inside that Merc? Argent, who was trembling visibly by now, finally had his moment as Dick Link landed on the kerb, rubbing his buttocks vigorously as a result of the uncomfortably cramped interior. Paul Harder and Phil McCavity, his regular co-stars, followed him out and the general sighs of appreciation amongst the gathered crowds rose an octave or two.
'Let me introduce myself. I'm the senior officer here, Inspector Thumb. Scotland Yard. Slot Car Division. I'm your head of security for today, also scriptwriter, actor, and very experienced in the sort of grisly murder scenarios that you thespians are keen on. I'm prepared to offer you my....
'Yeah yeah. We're on a tight schedule here, Bub. We gotta get the girls on the track, the shots in the camera, and the DVD on the streets by tonight. I've got advance orders from Peppermint Hippo and a budget tighter than Babs'....'
'Well that's fine, Mr Bater, because we've got everything ready inside. We thought we'd do 'Difflock, Stock and Two Smoking Nincos' for you- it's got eight grisly deaths, some unusual bodily intrusions, and sixteen track-tuned 1/32nd Formula one cars. It's one of my most famous cases!'
'Outta my way Finger, or whatever your name was. Hey! Flash. We're gonna need mega-watts here. Dingy looking place.'
Bater strode towards the club entrance. Being shaped rather like a five foot high pear in preposterously dark glasses, he didn't notice the black-cloaked six foot seven inch figure that barred his way until it was too late.
'Ye are the divil's ain rrrrrreprasentaive on airth, Mr Bater! Ye are doomed, doomed, doo-gaaaaarrrrrgggghnshhiiiii...'
Bater's glowing cigar ground into Cannon Fodder's groin. The priest fell sideways like a toppled redwood and Bater continued his stately progress into West Hamley Slot Car Club unimpeded.
Giggling and flirting, his cast of actors followed him in, as Blind Al hoisted a digi-cam onto his shoulder and Flash and Beethoven swung the doors firmly shut behind them.
'Closed set' Mr Bater yelled curtly through his clenched teeth as the bolts slid home, leaving Thumb, Argent, Lil, Coxie and the rest of West Hamley, strained with over-stimulation and bewiderment, out on the cold, damp and slippery street.
'Yes, yes, Inspector, but what about the part where all the ladies take off their clothes?'
'Well, that's not our department, Coxie. Mr Bater should be able to take care of that. What we need to do is work up the script, set the scene in the club, and wait for One-Handed Films to arrive! This will put Scotland Yard's Slot Car Division on the map! ''Inspector Thumb meets the Porn Stars!'' I can see it now. Promotion. Maybe my own late night Channel 4 programme- 'Throw a punch at Jonathan Ross'. That would be very popular, I feel. Argent! Come here. You can be Difflock. Coxie, you get the tongs, and Lil, you can stand in for Gloria Stitz. I shall go outside and prepare my entrance'
'Here, sir. You'll need some of this.'
'Shut up Argent.'
The sense of excitement grew to fever pitch as Friday drew nearer. Phat Larry's Pharmacy in Shoot-up Street sold out of tissues, and extra plumbing had to be installed in the club, as everyone worked night and day to make the appropriate preparations for the arrival of the cast and crew. Every member of West Hamley Slot Car Club stood to attention as the fleet of cars began to arrive. Two Merc off-roaders with blacked out one-way windows rolled down the high street towards the club. They slewed to a halt, and a window rolled down. A cigar emerged, followed by a huge pair of mirrored aviator shades and a fat red face.
'Any of you guys Coxie?'
'Yes, yes! Mr Bater, I presume! Pleased to meet you!'
'Yeah, yeah. Nice name, Coxie. Mind if I borrow it for a character?'
'Ah-oh-uhm- not at all not at all. Please come in. I expect the rest of your entourage will be here later?'
'Nah, nah- this is it, Coxie. Blind Al here handles the digi-cam, Beethoven here's our sound man, and Flash rigs the lights. Johnny and the girls are in the other....'
No-one waited to hear the rest. There was a swooshing sound like a huge hoover as the entire population of West Hamley rushed from Bater's car to the other. Cameras were popping already at the blackened windows. Argent began to unroll a red carpet from the front passenger door to the club. Lil was clawing at the driver's door handle, and Clint seemed to be jammed against the exhaust pipe in a very uncomfortable position. Finally the tailgate lifted slowly, opened from within. The roaring, whooping crowd stepped back a little as Babs 'Blower' Bentley emerged, unfolding her legs like a young mantis crawling out of its chryslais. She bobbed a little in several places, straightened her hair, and loosened a couple of buttons on her- well, you couldn't really call it a blouse. There was a collective sigh from the citizens of West Hamley. Not to be outdone, Butterfly Valve followed quickly, plucking at the hem of her- well, you couldn't call that a skirt, either. Eric just keeled over at that point. But the two preening girls were pushed rudely apart as Gloria Stitz climbed out of the car. Well, it was fake fur, but you couldn't really call it a coat. And it only had one button. How it stayed together was anyone's guess, although in fact most people were hoping that it wouldn't. You see, it was plainly obvious that the silly girl had completely forgotten to put anything on underneath it! Dangerous quantities of drool were by now collecting on the pavement, but even Gloria's moment in the spotlight was eclipsed as Francine Stock and Kirsty Wark, the notorious 'late night lovers', appeared simultaneously from the Merc, their arms sinuously entwined and their matching patent leather bikinis twinkling in the afternoon sun. It was too much for Bruno, who simply folded up, sobbing gently to himself.
How much room was there inside that Merc? Argent, who was trembling visibly by now, finally had his moment as Dick Link landed on the kerb, rubbing his buttocks vigorously as a result of the uncomfortably cramped interior. Paul Harder and Phil McCavity, his regular co-stars, followed him out and the general sighs of appreciation amongst the gathered crowds rose an octave or two.
'Let me introduce myself. I'm the senior officer here, Inspector Thumb. Scotland Yard. Slot Car Division. I'm your head of security for today, also scriptwriter, actor, and very experienced in the sort of grisly murder scenarios that you thespians are keen on. I'm prepared to offer you my....
'Yeah yeah. We're on a tight schedule here, Bub. We gotta get the girls on the track, the shots in the camera, and the DVD on the streets by tonight. I've got advance orders from Peppermint Hippo and a budget tighter than Babs'....'
'Well that's fine, Mr Bater, because we've got everything ready inside. We thought we'd do 'Difflock, Stock and Two Smoking Nincos' for you- it's got eight grisly deaths, some unusual bodily intrusions, and sixteen track-tuned 1/32nd Formula one cars. It's one of my most famous cases!'
'Outta my way Finger, or whatever your name was. Hey! Flash. We're gonna need mega-watts here. Dingy looking place.'
Bater strode towards the club entrance. Being shaped rather like a five foot high pear in preposterously dark glasses, he didn't notice the black-cloaked six foot seven inch figure that barred his way until it was too late.
'Ye are the divil's ain rrrrrreprasentaive on airth, Mr Bater! Ye are doomed, doomed, doo-gaaaaarrrrrgggghnshhiiiii...'
Bater's glowing cigar ground into Cannon Fodder's groin. The priest fell sideways like a toppled redwood and Bater continued his stately progress into West Hamley Slot Car Club unimpeded.
Giggling and flirting, his cast of actors followed him in, as Blind Al hoisted a digi-cam onto his shoulder and Flash and Beethoven swung the doors firmly shut behind them.
'Closed set' Mr Bater yelled curtly through his clenched teeth as the bolts slid home, leaving Thumb, Argent, Lil, Coxie and the rest of West Hamley, strained with over-stimulation and bewiderment, out on the cold, damp and slippery street.
The reaction of the population was startling. One minute they were like wolves, baying at the sky, the next like a swarm of bees crawling over the clubhouse, trying to find a way in, or a peephole at least. As they scrambled up walls and over roofs, each window was shuttered and barred from the inside. By the time Flash fired up his halogen lights within, not a ***** of light could be seen from the outside. Every crack, every cranny was filled and blacked out by Bater's energetic crew.
'Well, that's it then. We'd best go home. Nothing we can do-oooo-oooowhumpf.'
Coxie turned and slipped on the strangely greasy pavement.
'Oh come on Coxie' said Thumb. 'We mustn't give up so easily! Perhaps if I just tap on the window someone will come.'
'In my condition it won't take that much to make me....'
'Shut up Argent. This is a serious business. They're in there trying to make a film, and I've got the script!'
'I think they've got their own, Inspector. It's called 'Deep Slot', if I remember right. But that raises another problem' Coxie continued. 'They'll need to use the club track for that, and it's not connected up. Unless they're using the home-track guides with less penetration, but that makes no sense at all. The Ninco track's out of action too- I had to put in a new fuse last night.'
The mood of the crowd was getting ugly. They had no time for this. 'Let us in Coxie! What do you think you are, getting us all worked up like this! And all for nothing!'
'Well- Mr Bater did promise us all copies of the tape when he's finished....'
''Yeah, and he also said we could be extras!'
'Only the good-looking ones, I think- maybe he felt...'
'You sayin' I'm ugly?' yelled Jelly-face Jackson, who was extremely ugly.
Coxie gulped down his instinctive reply just in time, but the atmosphere was getting nastier by the minute. And there was no-where to go. The crowd had him, Thumb and Argent pinned against the wall of the clubhouse, and the afternoon light was failing rapidly. One wrong word, one false move and it could be their last stand. If they could stop their feet slipping.
Just then the clubhouse door opened a crack. The lit end of a thick cigar spread a wan glow that emphasised the bloodless pallor of the three men's faces.
'Anybody out there know how to switch this damn race track on?'
'Well, that's it then. We'd best go home. Nothing we can do-oooo-oooowhumpf.'
Coxie turned and slipped on the strangely greasy pavement.
'Oh come on Coxie' said Thumb. 'We mustn't give up so easily! Perhaps if I just tap on the window someone will come.'
'In my condition it won't take that much to make me....'
'Shut up Argent. This is a serious business. They're in there trying to make a film, and I've got the script!'
'I think they've got their own, Inspector. It's called 'Deep Slot', if I remember right. But that raises another problem' Coxie continued. 'They'll need to use the club track for that, and it's not connected up. Unless they're using the home-track guides with less penetration, but that makes no sense at all. The Ninco track's out of action too- I had to put in a new fuse last night.'
The mood of the crowd was getting ugly. They had no time for this. 'Let us in Coxie! What do you think you are, getting us all worked up like this! And all for nothing!'
'Well- Mr Bater did promise us all copies of the tape when he's finished....'
''Yeah, and he also said we could be extras!'
'Only the good-looking ones, I think- maybe he felt...'
'You sayin' I'm ugly?' yelled Jelly-face Jackson, who was extremely ugly.
Coxie gulped down his instinctive reply just in time, but the atmosphere was getting nastier by the minute. And there was no-where to go. The crowd had him, Thumb and Argent pinned against the wall of the clubhouse, and the afternoon light was failing rapidly. One wrong word, one false move and it could be their last stand. If they could stop their feet slipping.
Just then the clubhouse door opened a crack. The lit end of a thick cigar spread a wan glow that emphasised the bloodless pallor of the three men's faces.
'Anybody out there know how to switch this damn race track on?'
(Editor's note; this is where the original gets very difficult to read. Lots of torn and stuck bits, some parts obscured with strange stains. Sorry. But I think you'll just about get the sense of it.)
Thumb, Coxie and Argent stumbled out of the gloomy, and sticky West Hamley evening and the clutches of a ravening crowd into the garish light of the arc-lt clubroom.
'This is what death must be like' thought Coxie, quite a philosophical character on the quiet. 'One minute you're in the dark and cold, feeling depressed, next minute you're bathed in light and surrounded by angels. Naked ones.'
Thumb strode undistracted towards Bater, thrusting his script of 'Difflock, Stock, and Two Smoking Nincos' ahead of him. 'Here, Bater, run through this while we get the track hooked up for you.'
Argent stood, briefly blinking in the light before gazing at the
of Dick 'Trailing' Link. 'My oh my', he thought. 'If ever a man lived up to his nick-name.' He moved towards the stark nak
'I'm afraid I'll have to lie down to do this, Mr Link. Whoops! Sorry. Cold hands!'
Argent scurried underneath the main club eight-lane routed track and began to wire up the batteries.
Coxie looked around him, his sense of awe increasing with every heartbeat. Every direction he looked, glossily nubile
He felt a harsh slap on his face. 'Coxie! Coxie! Mr Bater needs your help! We need to set up this scene for him!'
'Wha- wha- wha? Are we doing the tongs scene from Difflock, then?'
'Um, no. Mr Bater thinks my script is, uh, too sophisticated for his audience. We're doing Deep Slot. And Gloria here-'
For the first time Coxie noticed that Thumb was not alone. He glanced down and saw
'Right then. This is the scene where Babs is doing that stuff at the bend- whadjacallit, Coxie?'
'Marshalling, Mr Bater'
'Yeah, yeah, whatever. So she's leaning riiiiiiight over the track- yeah! Just a little bit more, honey! And this little car here shoots right down her
'OK you guys, you know how to drive these things. You set it up. We want the little car to fly down the track just here when I say 'Action!' You ready, Blind Al?'
'OK, OK. That one's in the can. Next shot is where the little car shoots off the track and rips Butterfly's clothes off. Ready guys? In position? Action!'
And so it went on. Thumb, Argent and Coxie were drawn into the heady and glamorous world of film-making, unaware that the crowd outside had not gone away.
'Francine- Kirsty! I need you for this next scene. Coxie- set the little cars up, and you and Argent will have to drive 'em while Francine and Kirsty
Now when Francine moves her leg over there, we want the little car to
You got that, Argent? Action! Heck. Stop. Get off her Dick.'
'She hasn't got a -'
'Shut up Link. Back off. Do me a favour, Argent, Give Dick a rub-down. I gotta find out what this noise is. It's getting on the soundtrack!'
The baying of the crowd outside had risen to a regular drumbeat howl. Fists joined in the rhythm drumming on the walls.
'I'm afraid we'll have to take a break anyway. This car won't run, Mr Bater. It's one of Eric's. I need to clean the braids. Pass me the acetone, will you Thumb?'
'Here we go, Coxie. Whoops! Excuse me Gloria. Gosh I didn't know you could
in opposite directions
Crikey, Gloria. Look what you've done now! I've spilt acetone all over the track.'
It was at that very moment that Bater chose to open the club door in an attempt to quieten the mob outside. With unerring accuracy a flaming cross scorched over his head and landed square in the spreading pool of braid cleaning fluid.
'Vengeance is miiiiine! Take ye're corrrrrupting filth and taste the cleansing fires of purgatory!'
Canon Fodder's black-clad form was briefly silhouetted in demonic red as the fireball engulfed the main track.
'Run for it!' yelled Coxie. 'Not a second to lose! The whole building is going up!'
Thus it was that the population of West Hamley, having patiently- well, not that patiently- waited the best part of the afternoon on the cold and sticky streets were rewarded. A stream of their favourite film actors ran buck naked down the High Street, running as their lives depended on it. When they got to the end of the high street, which unusually is a cul-de-sac, they ran back again. Faced with the burning clubhouse, they turned and ran back again in confusion. By now, the crowd had started to applaud. Cameras started to turn. The Fire brigade arrived, slowly, and doused Babs, Gloria and the girls in a fine spray from their pumping hoses, while West Hamley Clubhouse burned relentlessly to the ground behind them. Dick, Phil McCavity and Paul Harder had their own party going on, dancing in the street with Lil, Argent, and various other interested parties in the warm glow of the clubhouse conflagration.
'Don't worry. It's all insured' said Coxie, authoritatively, while Thumb's video recorder caught all the hot action he could ever have dreamed of.
It wasn't just the insurance that paid off. 'Burning Slots' became the fastest-selling title in the One-Handed Films catalogue. Derek Bater graciously allowed West Hamley a generous royalty once it was pointed out that the best footage was shot out on the street with Inspector Thumb's camera, and that Lil's cavortings with Phil, Dick and Paul were seen by many to be a highlight.
And the population of West Hamley enjoyed it all so much that the 'Clubhouse Fire' has become a local tradition. Every year, after the end-of-season race meeting, the townsfolk enjoy the cathartic experience of dancing naked around a huge bonfire on the Green, while Canon Fodder and Pastor Eyes lash each other with piano wire in the crypt of St Ains.
Thumb, Coxie and Argent stumbled out of the gloomy, and sticky West Hamley evening and the clutches of a ravening crowd into the garish light of the arc-lt clubroom.
'This is what death must be like' thought Coxie, quite a philosophical character on the quiet. 'One minute you're in the dark and cold, feeling depressed, next minute you're bathed in light and surrounded by angels. Naked ones.'
Thumb strode undistracted towards Bater, thrusting his script of 'Difflock, Stock, and Two Smoking Nincos' ahead of him. 'Here, Bater, run through this while we get the track hooked up for you.'
Argent stood, briefly blinking in the light before gazing at the
of Dick 'Trailing' Link. 'My oh my', he thought. 'If ever a man lived up to his nick-name.' He moved towards the stark nak
'I'm afraid I'll have to lie down to do this, Mr Link. Whoops! Sorry. Cold hands!'
Argent scurried underneath the main club eight-lane routed track and began to wire up the batteries.
Coxie looked around him, his sense of awe increasing with every heartbeat. Every direction he looked, glossily nubile
He felt a harsh slap on his face. 'Coxie! Coxie! Mr Bater needs your help! We need to set up this scene for him!'
'Wha- wha- wha? Are we doing the tongs scene from Difflock, then?'
'Um, no. Mr Bater thinks my script is, uh, too sophisticated for his audience. We're doing Deep Slot. And Gloria here-'
For the first time Coxie noticed that Thumb was not alone. He glanced down and saw
'Right then. This is the scene where Babs is doing that stuff at the bend- whadjacallit, Coxie?'
'Marshalling, Mr Bater'
'Yeah, yeah, whatever. So she's leaning riiiiiiight over the track- yeah! Just a little bit more, honey! And this little car here shoots right down her
'OK you guys, you know how to drive these things. You set it up. We want the little car to fly down the track just here when I say 'Action!' You ready, Blind Al?'
'OK, OK. That one's in the can. Next shot is where the little car shoots off the track and rips Butterfly's clothes off. Ready guys? In position? Action!'
And so it went on. Thumb, Argent and Coxie were drawn into the heady and glamorous world of film-making, unaware that the crowd outside had not gone away.
'Francine- Kirsty! I need you for this next scene. Coxie- set the little cars up, and you and Argent will have to drive 'em while Francine and Kirsty
Now when Francine moves her leg over there, we want the little car to
You got that, Argent? Action! Heck. Stop. Get off her Dick.'
'She hasn't got a -'
'Shut up Link. Back off. Do me a favour, Argent, Give Dick a rub-down. I gotta find out what this noise is. It's getting on the soundtrack!'
The baying of the crowd outside had risen to a regular drumbeat howl. Fists joined in the rhythm drumming on the walls.
'I'm afraid we'll have to take a break anyway. This car won't run, Mr Bater. It's one of Eric's. I need to clean the braids. Pass me the acetone, will you Thumb?'
'Here we go, Coxie. Whoops! Excuse me Gloria. Gosh I didn't know you could
in opposite directions
Crikey, Gloria. Look what you've done now! I've spilt acetone all over the track.'
It was at that very moment that Bater chose to open the club door in an attempt to quieten the mob outside. With unerring accuracy a flaming cross scorched over his head and landed square in the spreading pool of braid cleaning fluid.
'Vengeance is miiiiine! Take ye're corrrrrupting filth and taste the cleansing fires of purgatory!'
Canon Fodder's black-clad form was briefly silhouetted in demonic red as the fireball engulfed the main track.
'Run for it!' yelled Coxie. 'Not a second to lose! The whole building is going up!'
Thus it was that the population of West Hamley, having patiently- well, not that patiently- waited the best part of the afternoon on the cold and sticky streets were rewarded. A stream of their favourite film actors ran buck naked down the High Street, running as their lives depended on it. When they got to the end of the high street, which unusually is a cul-de-sac, they ran back again. Faced with the burning clubhouse, they turned and ran back again in confusion. By now, the crowd had started to applaud. Cameras started to turn. The Fire brigade arrived, slowly, and doused Babs, Gloria and the girls in a fine spray from their pumping hoses, while West Hamley Clubhouse burned relentlessly to the ground behind them. Dick, Phil McCavity and Paul Harder had their own party going on, dancing in the street with Lil, Argent, and various other interested parties in the warm glow of the clubhouse conflagration.
'Don't worry. It's all insured' said Coxie, authoritatively, while Thumb's video recorder caught all the hot action he could ever have dreamed of.
It wasn't just the insurance that paid off. 'Burning Slots' became the fastest-selling title in the One-Handed Films catalogue. Derek Bater graciously allowed West Hamley a generous royalty once it was pointed out that the best footage was shot out on the street with Inspector Thumb's camera, and that Lil's cavortings with Phil, Dick and Paul were seen by many to be a highlight.
And the population of West Hamley enjoyed it all so much that the 'Clubhouse Fire' has become a local tradition. Every year, after the end-of-season race meeting, the townsfolk enjoy the cathartic experience of dancing naked around a huge bonfire on the Green, while Canon Fodder and Pastor Eyes lash each other with piano wire in the crypt of St Ains.
1 - 20 of 22 Posts
