Wortel felt rather taken aback by what he was hearing. “Chancellor Green. So if I understand you correctly, you’re coming back to try and do equally ‘good’ work?” Wortel could hear his own apprehension in his voice.
Chancellor Green threw back his head and roared with laughter. “My good carrot. No, like any good politician, I’m here to discredit him and then take the plaudits for his work.”
It was Wortel’s turn to feel his jaw start to drop. “So I guess it’s safe to assume you are not going to repel the food tax then?”
“Not a chance. It is a money-spinner. The only difference is that I have no intention of getting into bed with a crooked CEO of a major food producer and committing murder.”
“Ah, now sir, about that you do need to be careful what you say,” said Archibald nervously. “We were never able to get any concrete evidence linking your predecessor to the murders, so he has never been charged on that point.”
“Do you think you are going to find any evidence?” asked Green.
“Unlikely sir,” replied Archibald, who had started to unscrew his false leg, his giveaway sign when he was nervous. “You see, the other people who we believe were part of the scam are all dead. So, it’s hard to make them talk isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. But actually, that’s quite good news all things considered.”
Archibald and Wortel looked at each other and it was clear both man and carrot were utterly confused.
“How come sir?” pressed Archibald.
“Well you see the thing is, the Prime Minister has just started the general election campaign and there are only another 1,765 days to go. It wouldn’t sit well if the government, and ministers of the government, were linked in some way to murder. That’s why the Prime Minister has launched this independent enquiry into the food addiction scandal.”
“Is that the independent enquiry which will be made up of self-appointed old cronies and which is already on its third chair person?” asked Wortel, feeling Archibald give him a sharp dig in the ribs.
“That’ll be the one,” replied Green cheerfully. “Anyway, it’ll take at least two years before the enquiry eventually meets for the first time and then they’ll need to agree terms of reference. That will go on for at least a year, and then once that’s all sorted, well, I’m sure something will surface which will cause that chair and the cronies to stand down.”
“And another few years will slip past with no outcome,” offered Wortel, ignoring the jabbing in his ribs from his superior officer.
“You’ve got it in one Wortel. You’re bright as a button. No wonder you have such a good record at the Food Related Crime team.”
“How much is this going to cost the taxpayer?” said Wortel, taking two steps to his right to avoid Archibald who was making loud hushing noises.
“Far too much. It’ll be well over budget. The sums will be eye watering, but no matter, justice will out. And the public will forget this whole affair ever happened in time. Let’s be honest, they forgave the Chancellor before me for selling off the gold reserves of the country for a packet of fruit pastilles.”
Wortel shrugged in defeated acceptance. “One final question sir, if I may?”
“Of course you may.”
“Why are we here?”
Chancellor Green smiled. “I would like to make you an offer that I don’t think you can refuse.”
Wortel felt his back stiffen at the suggestion, while Chief Superintendent Archibald, who had unscrewed, and then re-screwed his leg, looked at Chancellor Green with intrigue.
Chancellor Green noticed how he caught the attention of Chief Superintendent Archibald and moved into the space which Wortel had vacated when his boss was jabbing him in the ribs. Chancellor Green placed his arm around Archibald’s shoulder and turned him away from Wortel.
“I can only imagine how expensive it is to run your division Chief Superintendent Archibald.”
“Oh it is sir. We are always looking for ways to save money aren’t we Wortel?”
Wortel went to reply but Chancellor Green beat him to the punch.
“I thought as much. Which is why I want to increase the funding for your team. I want to make sure you have funds to cover your expenses for the lifetime of this parliament.”
“How generous of you,” boomed Archibald, taking Chancellor Green by the hand and shaking it vigorously.
Chancellor Green pulled his hand away sharply, causing Archibald to stumble slightly. Obviously he hadn’t tightened his false leg as well as he had thought.
“Just one thing Archibald. One small condition.”
‘Here it comes’ thought Wortel.
“I need to be confident that this murder case isn’t going to come and bite me on the backside. So do I have your word Chief Superintendent Archibald?”
Chief Superintendent Archibald mulled over the offer for a matter of seconds. “So when do we get the increased funds?”
Wortel threw his arms up in the air and bought them down on top of his head. Archibald looked in his direction and smiled weakly. “Look on the bright side. This means you get to keep Oranges and Lemons for so much longer.”
Chancellor Green walked Archibald and Wortel to the lifts and wished them well before departing. He liked them. He liked the way Archibald did business. And he liked the way Wortel wasn’t afraid of showing his emotions. Especially how he had burst into tears on realising he was able to keep his team together.
**********
It was in the taxi on the way back to the office that Wortel managed to regain his composure and stop the flood of tears. Putting his handkerchief back into trouser pocket, Wortel took a long sniff, shook his head and followed that up with a deep sigh.
Archibald, who had become increasingly embarrassed by his colleague’s behaviour and had been pretending he wasn’t with Wortel, stopped staring out of the taxi window and turned to Wortel.
“Have you quite finished?”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that sir,” said Wortel who felt he would burst into tears again if Archibald pressed him too hard.
“Thank the lord. You really embarrassed me in front of the Chancellor.”
“I was overcome sir. The thought of another five years with Oranges and Lemons, well, it was too much for me. You’d be the same if you were with them every second of the working day.”
“I would have held myself together; I can tell you that for nothing Wortel. I was mortified as we walked through reception with you blubbing like there was no tomorrow. The shame of it.”
“And I suppose you falling over because you hadn’t reattached your false leg properly had nothing to do with your embarrassment at all,” replied Wortel more tartly than he wanted.
Archibald reddened in the face as he remembered going arse upwards. “I think I slipped on the wet floor which had arisen because of your tears,” he shot back.
“I very much doubt that,” replied Wortel. “Anyway, I thought the receptionist was very gracious about the whole thing, especially as your leg hit her on the temple and smashed her glasses.”
Archibald turned away from Wortel and began to stare out of the window again, with neither man nor carrot speaking for the remainder of the journey.
**********
Dorothy consoled Wortel on his arrival back at the Food Related Crime offices.
“Want to hear something amusing?” she asked.
“Do I ever?”
“I told Oranges and Lemons the real story of Snow White and suffice to say they were a bit disappointed. Anyway, they initially misheard me and thought I was talking about how to communicate with deaf pandas, but I made them realise I was saying pantomime…”
Wortel raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“…well, they got quite excited by the idea of performing on stage and they’ve booked themselves in for some auditions. We might be off to see them in a panto this year.”
The news did indeed bring a smile to Wortel’s face as he slipped off his overcoat an
d hung it up on the coat rack.
“What pantomime?” Wortel asked tentatively.
Dorothy let out a small giggle. “I’m not entirely sure but I just know I stopped them from auditioning from a risky ‘adults’ only panto – A-lad-in Dick Whittington.”
4
Pluck-It
The cameras were positioned. The studio lights set. Settee at the ready, cushions plumped. The stage hand signalled to the highly experienced, but somewhat temperamental anchor, at least that’s what it sounded like they called him, that they were to go live in 5…4…3…2…1…
“And good evening everybody, welcome to this live edition of NewsFoodNight, during which we shall learn which way the turkeys have voted. Will they have voted for or against Christmas? The opinion polls have this as a vote too close to call and the ramifications of this vote shall live on for a generation. Are we consigned to eating nut cutlets before our Christmas pudding or can we carry on with our traditional Christmas turkey dinner? With me tonight to answer these questions and to discuss the results will be the fool who allowed this referendum to take place, the Minister for DAFaRT, and the maniac/genius you choose, who secured this referendum, Chief Turkey Gobbler Tarquinius Gallopava.”
Off set the television crew watched the host of NewsFoodNight, Paxo, whip himself up into a frenzy in readiness for his first victim Sir Rupert Irksome, Minister for DAFaRT. Paxo was a fearsome interviewer and although small in stature he lived up to his food sapiens nickname Paxo the Stuffing. Perched on the end of his Pyrex dish seat, he would lull in his guests with his softly spoken sage words, before unleashing an onion-based tongue lashing if he felt they were not being straight with their answers. Many a time Ned St.NoBalls, the leader of the opposition party WeKipped, had appeared opposite Paxo and was carried off set a quivering wreck. In one ill-fated confrontation, Ned St.NoBalls had decided to march on stage shouting ‘hell yeah’, only to find that Paxo was asking aloud a question about whether people thought the WeKipped economic policy of funding research into growing money on trees was preposterous. Such was the PR disaster that WeKipped advised him to sit on the floor of a moving bus, ignoring all of the empty seats, and make a claim that he was on medication which was causing him to act strangely.
Sir Rupert made his way onto the television studio floor, shook hands with Paxo the Stuffing and settled down for his grilling.
“If I may cut to the chase?” asked Paxo.
Sir Rupert nodded.
“Of all the food groups, what possessed you to offer the turkeys, the vote on Christmas? Were you out of your simple little mind?”
Sir Rupert expected such an opening question and took the insult in his stride by sticking up his middle finger and saluting Paxo, who for his part, thumbed his nose right back at Sir Rupert.
“A very sage question,” said Sir Rupert, hoping to get a laugh from the audience. The only trouble for Sir Rupert was that there was no audience in the studio and opposite him sat Paxo the Stuffing who was browning in the face at the comment.
Sir Rupert decided to press on. “In fact Paxo, I have no idea why I offered the referendum. I accept that I did as my signature is all over the parliamentary papers and I ordered the press release announcing the date of the referendum. As for why I did, I couldn’t honestly say. I actually have no recollection of the whole affair. All I can remember is that I had a much bruised arm like I had given blood but I felt an extreme contentment. Strange isn’t it?”
It wasn’t often that you saw Paxo lost for words, although this was becoming one such occasion.
“So, if you don’t recall the reason for the referendum, what does Prime Minister Greggs have to say?”
“He’s told me that he’s buggered if he is going to have his name dragged through the mud on this one and so if the turkeys vote against Christmas then I will need to resign. Your arse not my arse, I think were his words.”
“But why hasn’t he called this referendum off? Surely there are good grounds to do so?”
“No, no. He has party unity in mind you see?”
Off stage an advisor to Sir Rupert was doing his best to attract his attention to get him to stop talking. He stood waving his arms frantically in the air, in one hand a mobile phone with a connection to the Prime Minister’s office who were screaming blue murder down the line.
“Party unity?” Paxo realised he had TV gold and sometimes the best thing was to not ask long questions but to let the interviewee talk themselves into a hole.
“Yes. We in Unions-R-Us pride ourselves on not having party unity for too long. The Prime Minister was looking for some mechanism for the party to rip itself apart and this came along.”
“But how can that be good for government and the country?”
“It isn’t Paxo, you old fool. While the party is tearing itself to pieces and the wheels of government come to a grinding halt, the Prime Minister and his old school cronies can line their pockets with expenses and off the book contracts. Look at the recent honours announcement. There was a dame-hood for the lady who works in the PM’s chip shop. We’ve heard she slips him an extra big portion and a pork saveloy from time to time and there’s her reward. It’s been happening for years.”
Off stage the advisor to Sir Rupert had decided that desperate times called for desperate measures and with no other option, they hit the nearest fire alarm. Running onto set they grabbed a startled Sir Rupert by the lapels and started to drag him away from Paxo the Stuffing.
“Bad show about the fire alarm,” said Sir Rupert to his advisor, “…I thought that was going swimmingly.”
**********
With the fire evacuation over and Sir Rupert bundled into a car heading for Coventry, Paxo the Stuffing was back with breaking news.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the United Kingdom. Homo sapiens and food sapiens alike. The results are in, and I can now reveal that the turkeys have, by record numbers, voted against Christmas. A landslide 72% voted with Chief Turkey Gobbler Tarquinius Gallopava, just 22% against, with the remaining 6% having spoiled their ballot papers by eating them. So there we have it, it wasn’t remotely close and the opinion polls were wrong again, tripe in fact, with respect to that rather awful food sapiens group. The government have suffered more than just a bloody nose tonight and the good people of the UK will be no longer able to enjoy a traditional Christmas roast dinner. Sharing his thoughts on this momentous result is Chief Turkey Gobbler himself, Tarquinius Gallopava.”
Strutting onto stage with long strides, Tarquinius Gallopava craned his thin neck as high as it would go, puffing out his tail feathers for all to see. Here was a turkey who was going to make the most of his victory and everybody was going to know about it.
Paxo the Stuffing watched this triumphant white-feathered bird reach the interview sofa, cluck backwards and forwards for a short while, turn around a couple of times, his head bobbing backwards and forwards, before he plonked his large frame down and indicated he was ready to begin.
“A fairly clear victory in the end wasn’t it?” said Paxo, not trying to hide the sneer in his voice.
“Never in doubt. And I am pleased to say that your sort will never be stuffed near a turkey’s giblets again. Let us be clear, turkeys have voted against our continuing exploitation. We are a free species.”
“You always were a free species,” snapped Paxo. “What you have done is to campaign on the fears of turkeys around the UK by claiming they would never be part of a Sunday roast again. That isn’t true?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But you did. Your campaign trail specifically said ‘we boast, no to the roast’. Are you now saying, with the result confirmed, that you only meant the Christmas roast and not all Sunday roasts? I put it to you that your campaign was disingenuous.”
“I am sorry if people misunderstood the nature of the campaign, although I know all turkeys that voted with me clearly grasped this concept. As for that slogan, it was not part of my official ‘no’ campaign.�
��
“You lied.”
“Not so. I campaigned against turkeys being the staple for the Christmas dinner and this was overwhelmingly backed by the majority of turkeys. They have gobbled and we respect that result.”
“What do you make of the Minister for DAFaRT claiming he cannot remember why he called this referendum?”
“The Minister made his reasons clear in his press release all those months ago. He valued our choice of freedom which we have today taken. Other than that, I have no comment to make. The Minister can speak for himself.”
“So are you satisfied with the campaign you ran?”
“I worked this campaign hard. I had a number of events around the country and I gobble, gobbled here, gobble, gobbled there…”
“…here a gobble,” injected Paxo.
“…yes, there a gobble…”
“…everywhere a gobble, gobble…”
“Indeed,” said Tarquinius. “I don’t think I need to go on any further.”
**********
With a press of a button the television was paused, Tarquinius Gallopava frozen in time, his plume of feathers filling the screen, his red long neck protruding from his body.
The rotund gentleman watching NewsFoodNight drained the last remnants of scotch from his glass before he stood from his chair. On his wall was a map of the world, across which arrows were drawn in what appeared to be a random order but yet which made complete sense to him. He stroked his beard, his eyes fixated on the Chief Turkey Gobbler.
“I don’t like you one bit. You need to be watched very carefully my friend,” he said aloud.
“What was that dear?” his wife called from the adjacent room.
“Oh just mumbling to myself,” he called back, before using the remote again to turn off the television.
“First sign of madness Nicholas,” she replied. “Careful or I will call the little men in green coats.”
Who Killed the Mince Spy? Page 2
