Issue 3
Part Three of 'The Boonditch Affair'

“What do you mean it’s not a valid claim. It specifically states that the Ericsson R310S is shockproof, dustproof and waterproof!”

“That is correct, but having a building fall on the phone is considered to be more than a simple shock. Dropping it on the ground is valid, being crushed by tonnes of concrete is not, so the warranty is void.” The phone clicked in his ear as the line went dead.

They were back in the L-Room, having left Boonditch’s lair for the police to gather evidence. Kane was tired, it was eleven o’clock, two and a half hours past his bedtime. All he wanted were cookies, milk and a naughty bedtime story.

“Instead, I’m stuck here trying to work out what that bloody Boonditch is up to,” he muttered.

“Gerbil, any word from the crime scene?”

“It just came in, sir. So far, they have not found anything useful.”

“Damn,” Inadequate Man punched the table, “and Miss Mate’s statement?”

“Miss Mate said all they did was sing badly, get drunk, and talk about their mother’s best haggis.”

“How could anyone actually eat that crap. I tried some while we were waiting. Sheep’s stomach stuffed with flour. Yuck!”

“I beg your pardon sir, but haggis is stuffed with entrails, not flour.”

“Then what was all that white stuff then.” Inadequate Man handed him the piece of haggis he had bought home. Gerbil leaned in for a closer look.

“I do believe sir, that this sheep’s stomach has been stuffed with cocaine.”

Inadequate Man put some on his finger and rubbing it against his teeth.

“Buggered if I know how that tells you if its cocaine. Run an analysis on it Gerbil.”

It took a few minutes for the analysis to finish, and Inadequate Man was growing bored.

“Sir, the analysis proves it. The haggis is full of cocaine.”

“Aha! So that’s what Boonditch is up to! It makes sense; only a Scot would want to go near the stuff. He must have a shipment of Haggis coming in tomorrow.”

Inadequate Man hurried to the phone, dialling the number for the Premise City Customs Office.

“Hello, Customs Office” a monotonous voice answered the phone.

“Hello, I need to –”

“If you would like a listing of incoming cargo, please press one.” Growling, Inadequate Man stabbed at the one.

“You have selected incoming cargo listing. For cargo by ship, press one. For airfreight, press two. For the way Boonditch is smuggling cocaine into the city, press three.”

Inadequate Man stared at the phone for a moment before quickly pressing three, lounge music coming on as the request was processed.

“For cocaine stuffed in a kilt’s lining, press one. For cocaine stuffed inside haggis, press two. For cocaine smuggled in up Billy Connolly’s ass during his national comedy tour, press three. To repeat the options, press four.” Shaking his head, he quickly pushed two.

“‘Haggis Dogs’ is importing haggis tomorrow for distribution as ‘Pluto-Hag; the haggis on a stick’. It arrives on Scottish AirFreight tomorrow at noon. Another shipment is being imported by ‘Mother’s Best Haggis’, arriving by-”

“That’s it!” Kane shouted. “Boonditch bloody told us!”

The computer voice paused. “If you would like to continue shouting, press one. If you would like me to continue, press two. If you choose to continue and then interrupt me again, it is likely that you will be put on hold and forced to listen to ‘John Farnham’s Classic Hits of the Eighties’.”

Kane pressed ‘two’. Quickly. So quick, he may have pushed it twice.

The voice continued. “Thank you for continuing. I may be a computer-simulated voice, but I have feelings too. The shipment will arrive at the docks tomorrow on the cargo ship ‘Titangus’.”

Kane hung up the phone and turned towards Gerbil.

The phone rang in his hands. Frowning, Inadequate Man answered the phone. It was the computer-simulated voice.

“You could have at least said goodbye, you bastard.”

The phone went dead. Kane stared at the phone.

“Gerbil, we have planning to do.” Gerbil and Inadequate Man went over to the command table and started to work out how to trap Boonditch.

* * * Saturday night in Premise City was cold, the mists rising up from the sewers to once again engulf the streets. At the docks, the mist joined with the fog coming off the river, drowning out the lamps that lined the wharf.

‘I can barely see two feet in front of me,’ Inadequate Man thought as he waited. He was lying on the roof of a fishing trawler, opposite the ‘Titangus’. There were no boats out on the river, most people preferring to spend Saturday nights in nightclubs and restaurants where they could keep the winter chill away. Apart from the lapping of water against the trawler’s hull, it was silent.

“I’m tellin’ ye Cuffs, something has to be done aboot that Inadequate Man. Ye promised me ye’d killed ‘im.” Boonditch’s voice was unmistakable. Inadequate Man scanned the wharf, but the fog hid them from view.

“I did exactly like ye said, Boonditch. I saw the bleedin’ buildin’ fall on his bleedin’ ‘ead. ‘Twas bloody luck tha’ saved him, I tell ye.”

“Next time, make sure even luck can nay help his sorry arse.”

Inadequate Man heard them climbing up to the ship’s deck, but he still could not see them. Judging by the sounds, they were almost to the top of the deck.

He heard the sound of a crate being opened, and then Boonditch’s laughter. “Ach, me mother’s best haggis! After we distribute this through Bairnside, we’ll be rolling in money, eh Cuffs.”

Inadequate Man stood up, screaming out for the others to close in as he leapt into the air. He heard Boonditch shout something and he shifted direction towards the sound.

Red spots danced in front of eyes and his ears rang as he collapsed onto the deck. Above him, the side of a metal container had caved in.

“Fucking fog! I can’t see shit in this!” He cursed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Blast it, it’s Inadequate Man! Run!” He reached the top deck and the crate they had opened, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“It’s no use running now, Boonditch. The police have you surrounded.”

“I don’t think soo, Inadequate Man. I did no see any of them.”

Inadequate Man stood still, hearing silence. Muttering, he pulled out his mobile.

‘Better not break this one,’ he thought as he dialled the number. ‘Bloody minimum two years plans!’

The phone rang twice before it was answered, loud music in the background causing him to yell.

“Commissioner, I am at the ‘Titangus’. Where are you and your men?”

“The ‘Titangus’? We’re all at the ‘Tight Annie’ strip club. We ah…must have misunderstood.”

Inadequate Man cursed. “Well hurry up and get here.”

“Aw come on, Inadequate Man. We got a whole stack of dollar bills left! You’re a bloody superhero. You don’t need us. Oh wait, here comes Annie! Sorry miss, we’re going to have to strip search you, you bad, bad…” The phone went dead in his ear.

“Yer friends no comin’?” Boonditch chuckled. “Just like yer friends did nae come to any of yer birthday parties, I bet.”

“Hey! Mummy told me the invitations got lost in the frigging mail, damn it! And that’s not the point…I’m taking you down Boonditch!”

“How do ye know that I won’t just jump overboard?”

“This is Premise City. Even the sewer rats wouldn’t go near that river.”

“Aye, good point. But ye still have ta catch me.”

Inadequate Man heard the sound of running and gave chase, cutting across the deck to meet it. The fog made it impossible to see and soon he was running between giant containers, the footsteps echoing off the metal around him.

He paused, catching his breath. He heard footsteps to his right and moved towards them, quietly. Waiting, he heard them slowly walking past the container he was leaning against.

He saw an arm came into view and grabbed it, leaping in front of them. A hand came up in front of his face, holding a small aerosol can.

The slender hand pressed down on the nozzle and Inadequate Man screamed as pepper spray burned his eyes.

“Oh, Inadequate Man! I’m so sorry!” He barely heard the woman’s voice between his own screams.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“It’s me, Drew Mate. From the Premise Press.”

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I figured out what Boonditch was up to and decided to get the scoop. Have you caught them yet?”

He saw an outline spring up beside him, but everything else was blurry.

“No, he hasn’t lassie. An’ it might be a wee bit ‘ard when the poor bastard canna see.”

Boonditch swung at Inadequate Man with a crowbar. It struck him a glancing glow across the face and pushed him backwards. Laughing, Boonditch swung again, knocking Inadequate Man over the ship’s railing.

The cold water shocked Inadequate Man back to consciousness. Struggling, he swam for the surface. He felt something soft and slimy brush against his cheek and tried not to think what it might be. The Premise City sewerage plant was only a mile up the river from where he was.

He broke through to the surface and kept going, flying straight up, trying to get away from the water. He still couldn’t see, either due to the fog, or the mace, or whatever had been in the water; but he didn’t care at the moment. Before he had a time to realise where he was heading, he crashed through the railing, his shoulder striking something soft before he careened into a container.

Rubbing his eyes, the shapes in front of his face began to take focus. Lying beneath him, with blood staining his red beard and hair, was Boonditch.

“Good job Inadequate Man! You flew straight into him and knocked Boonditch unconscious!”

Drew reached down to help him stand. He heard the sound of sirens and screeching tyres on the wharf. Leaning against a container, he heard the Commissioner run up the stairs to the top deck.

“I thought you were at ‘Tight Annie’s’?”

“Ahh…well…it seems that a stack of ones isn’t much of a stack when it’s thirty five bucks for a five minute private dance. That damn Good Sexy Tits, or whatever the hell GST stands for.”

“Well, here’s your man. The evidence is still in the crates. I’m going home.”

He walked Drew to her car. She turned and smiled at him. “It was really nice meeting you, Inadequate Man.”

“It’s Eradicate…forget it. It was nice meeting you too.” He waved goodbye as she drove away.

He took his mobile out of his utility belt. Water dripped out as he flipped it open, sparking once before dying.

“Shit! Now I can’t call Gerbil to pick me up! Bloody phones!”

‘What a weekend,’ he thought to himself as he flew home, soaring above Premise City. ‘Sure beats sitting at home watching a porno.’

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Copyright © 2001.
Any queries can be sent to inadequateman@hotmail.com