Chapter 36

Councillor Michelle Fowler was not having a good afternoon.

“Guys? Can you forget about the horses for a minute? It’s just that I’ve got a lot to do today, and if I have to help with your investigation, I’d rather we get this done now. Plus I don’t like being handcuffed.”

“Not what I’ve heard,” whispered Steve, under his breath.

Pigshit picked up Fowler’s pad of Post-It notes and scribbled down his bets.

“Right,” he said, turning to Steve. “Get on the phone to Fat Jim. Tell him I want fucking good prices for that lot.”

“You’ve gone for Wanted: Monty Mole in the 5.50?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“That one’s only got three legs,” said Andy.

“He’s a good runner on soft ground,” argued Pigshit. “And he’s got Clive Gibbons on board. That guy only rides good horses. He doesn’t fuck about with donkeys.”

“I still prefer Saint and Greavsie,” said Steve.

“Your money,” huffed Pigshit. He turned to Fowler. “You putting on a bet, love?”

“No,” huffed Fowler.

Pigshit was about to call her a grumpy lezzer, but – remembering his diversity training – stopped himself from causing unnecessary offence. He tried to recall one of the politically-correct labels that they were allowed to use.

“All right, keep your knickers on, you annoying rug-muncher.” He turned to Andy. “Is there a coffee machine round here? I’m parched. Here’s 20p. Milk and sugar. Fuck off and get me a cup.”


Chapter 35

Inspector Pigshit found himself lost in the racing pages of the Daily Record. He completely forgot where he was for a while. With a start, he glanced up and looked around. That’s right: he was in Councillor Fowler’s office, on a murder investigation. Steve and that other bloke – Andy? – were also there. Unlike Councillor Fowler, they weren’t handcuffed.

“You all right, guv?” asked Steve.

“Fine, bro’,” replied Pigshit.

He glanced over at Andy. There was a small badge on his lapel. It said ‘SCROTUM’.

“Why the fuck does that badge say ‘SCROTUM’?”

“It’s the name of a shadowy international crime organisation. Like Spectre, or those THRUSH bastards from The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”


“No. Just kidding. It’s an acronym for the Standing Committee on the Rights of Trades Union Members.”

“But it says ‘SCROTUM’!” said Steve.

“What? Oh … aye,” said Andy, hesitantly, slowly realising the word on his badge meant a part of a man’s todger.

He took off the badge.

“Hey, look!” said Pigshit, pointing to the runners and riders for the 4.10 at Catterick.

“There’s a horse called Raw Scrotum!”

“Fuck yeah,” said Steve. “I reckon we should stick a fiver on that.”

They all laughed. Apart from Councillor Fowler, who was still handcuffed to the radiator, and still very pissed off.