“Christ! OW!” yelled Honey-B as she coggled over on one. “Bloody floors.”
“Fine, thanks,” She croaked. “Well, apart from this wretched cold that WILL NOT GO.” She tried to shout in frustration but croaked just marginally louder. “ I've got a job for you. Paul and Deirdre Crumpsall – you may know them better as Carlos Wildebeast and Honey-B – have got an urgent problem and I said I know just the woman to help: The PI from GY!”
Since Private Investigations Grimsby had been set up, my ramshackle team and I had managed to keep a good flow of cases coming in. Much to my surprise and to the relief of my bank balance. However, my team were still having to help out for mates rates. That basically meant the odd beer or sandwich here and there. Luckily they enjoyed it and luckily I had great friends who liked to see me pay my bills.
Time was pressing and I forced myself to drive to Cleethorpes and see the manager of The Beachcomber, the club where the gold lurex trunks had made their last appearance.