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.


Chapter 33

The heavy wooden mahogany door landed on the floor with a resounding splintery crash. The last time Pigshit kicked in a politician’s door (see page 195 of the 2011 Inspector Pigshit novel, Wake Me Up Before You Go Go for details) he caught a prominent MSP and his secretary at it like knives on the desk. It was a horrible image. (Indeed, some nights Pigshit will wake up in cold terror at the memory of the man’s fat, spotty arse thrusting back and forth, back and forth.) This time, however, Councillor Michelle Fowler was sitting back in her chair with a cup of tea or something, while some bloke was lying on the couch with his feet up, reading the Daily Record.

“What the fucking hell are you doing?”, screamed Fowler, almost spilling her tea. “Don’t you guys knock?”

“We did,” said Pigshit. “That’s why your door fell in.”

He turned to the bloke on the couch.

“Now who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Andy O’Brien. Councillor Fowler’s political advisor.”

“Right, well sit there and keep your fucking mouth shut. We’re doing a murder investigation here.”

“No worries,” replied Andy. “I’ll just read my paper.”

“Shall I ’cuff her up, boss?” asked Steve.

“Do that,” said Pigshit.

“What?” exclaimed Fowler as Steve handcuffed her. “Again, what the fucking hell are you doing?”

“Handcuffs, love,” smiled Pigshit. “I expect you quite enjoy handcuffs in certain situations, but this is police work, so don’t get too excited. Standard procedure.”

Inspector Pigshit sat down on a swivel chair and reached into his pocket to take out his new notebook. He was ready to begin the interview.