funny fiction - spying on spies

The boss discovers Arnold, the business man

‘It’s all very well for Number 9 "I believe the twin pipes are called trousers," and Number 14 is even worse,’ complained Chairentity Number 12 as it returned to the privacy of its room. ‘Some of us are too busy to spend all day watching the hairy mammals. Some of us have responsibilities for understanding the world, carefully and meticulously planning the serving of tea in a manner that won’t disturb the hairy mammals and reporting back to AloeVera 1.1 (general direction), I haven’t got time to learn about trousers. And when I say some of us are too busy, I mean one of us - me!’
Number 12 stalked to and fro muttering to itself, the words "hairy mammals!" and "colleagues!" being louder than the background grumble. After a spell of this behaviour it sat by a terminal and decided to act.

Justifying one's behaviour

‘There is no knowing how they’ll react if we just make contact,’ it complained. ‘I’ll have to start by understanding the most important parts - the beeping boxes. They seem kind of orderly and predictable,’ it kept repeating, more in hope than conviction. ‘A bit like me really ... ,’ it added, vaguely aware that its little self-administered pep talk wasn’t entirely convincing. There seemed a great many beeping boxes to choose from so Number 12 resolved to study the most interesting specimens for a while.
‘I’ll invite, (better still instruct!) Number 14 to come and share the experience,’ it declared.
So it did.
By far the most impressive beeping box ever to be seen in the twin towns of Smogdale and Kidneyswamp was at that very moment turning from Turnip Freeway onto Lake Road and it sped north past the market gardens and Hampork Heath. The car slowed by the entrance to the Hollyist meeting rooms then accelerated again until it came to an imposing private drive. A large sign, brass letters on an oak board, indicated that the drive led to Aston Villa, a luxury residence in extensive grounds with views of the imposing trees of Hampork Heath, the clear blue water of Kidneyswamp lake (famed for its wildlife, especially wading birds) and the Irish sea not a mile distant with breathtaking cliff-top walks.

Beeping boxes of an impressive size

The impressive car, a silver grey Mercedes saloon, pulled up near the house and a surprisingly small man emerged from the driver’s side. Another man immediately sprang from his car which was parked well away from the entrance and came towards the smaller man. The smaller man adjusted the fit of his suit jacket across his shoulders and straightened his tie, then looked at the house with a critical eye.
‘Mr. Toller, I presume,’ said the taller man.
‘Yes.’
‘Pleased to meet you, and welcome to your new home. A luxury residence in extensive grounds... ,’ he began, his voice losing something in the telling and his eyes glazing over, ‘with views of the imposing trees of Hampork Heath, the clear blue water of Kidneyswamp lake (famed for its wildlife, especially wading birds) and the Irish sea not a mile distant with breathtaking cliff-top walks.’
‘Keys?’ asked Mr. Toller.
‘Ah yes. Here we are sir. Now if ... .’
‘I’ll show myself around, thank you.’
A furniture lorry had followed the Mercedes and two well-built removals men leapt from the lorry and commenced heaving the suitcases, furniture and tea-chests towards the house as though tips were a possibility.
‘Just sort everything for the conservatory first. After that you won’t see me and you can take your time,’ Mr. Toller instructed.
‘Sure thing,’ chorused the tipees.
‘A very strange priority, starting with the conservatory,’ said the older tipee.
‘Oh I don’t know. He can put his feet up in there while we finish unloading and unpacking,’ his mate replied.
‘True. But did you ever before see a huge conservatory that contained no plants, only one chair, one table, a filing cabinet, a glass topped box with ants in it and a telescope?’
‘That’s one of them rhetorical questions, isn’t it? Like I don’t have to answer.’
‘You do what you want, mate. Just don’t drop anything on my toes, is all.’
As soon as the conservatory was habitable the small man slackened his tie, pointed his seat towards the nearby towns, peered through his telescope and occasionally made notes in a new leather-bound notebook.



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Copyright Peter Fairbother