CycleChat The Novel.

[Bazzer]

His first attempts on the cell bars using the El Chapo method were spectacularly unsuccessful. Many plastic forks met an untimely and non recycled end, to the extent that other prisoners were having to share utensils, such was the shortage.
Then something sparked in his head. His new diet of hot chilli sauce gave him what was known as ring sting. If the chilli could burn him, perhaps the bars too?
Solitary confinement after the bar of soap incident, gave him the perfect opportunity to try.
(Readers will be spared to gory details)
Success! Accy discovered the bars had corroded where they met the hard concrete

 

[Drago]

Accy the Butler then carved an exact replica of a Dillon Aeron M-134 Gatling gun from a bar of soap and black boot polish.

 

[colly]

...and using the black boot polish he drew a black hole on the wall thus enabling him to slip past the event horizon and escape into another dimension.

 

[Reynard]

When he stepped out of the wormhole, he found himself floating outside Deep Space Nine wearing a bright pink pressure suit.

While back in the prison cell, the replica gun had thoroughly confused the turnkeys. But someone then accidentally left it on a radiator.

 

[Drago]

Lance O'Classic was somewhat puzzled by the bright new star rising above the horizon, that had a distinct pink tinge to it. However, while looking upwards he tripped over the unconscious form of a humanoid laying in the gutter, foaming at the mouth and glowing faintly on the gloom.

O'Classic pinched his wallet, and ran off up the road, not realising that Accy the Butler was attempting reentry.

 

[Oxo]

The reluctant astronaut completed another orbit. He realised that if he got his re- entry right everything he ever desired would be his, but, of course, Accy being Accy, he didn't get everything right. In fact he got everything wrong, horribly wrong, terrifyingly wrong and,worst of all, painfully wrong.
Accy stared in absolute panic at the fate that awaited him, a fate arriving at breakneck speed, a fate from which there could be be no escape, unless...

 

[Drago]

...he could use his farts as boosters to alter his trajectory and land in a more favourable spot. Accy the Butler looked around, and spied what looked like a very comfortable landing spot. Tilting his booster in the necessary direcrions he nudged his re-entry angle, and plunged headlong into the Earths atmosphere.

Accy landed exactly where intended, on Carol Vordermans giant uber Emperor king dictator sized bed. Accy lay there, revelling in the feeling of smugness that came from being the first CC'er to make it alive into Ms. vordermans boudour.

Suddenly there was a banging on the door. And some shouting. Oh no! Lord Drago, and he sounded murderously insane with jealousy! For a fleeting moment Accy wished he was back in the prison showers, but with great effort he shook off his fear and began to formulate a plan.

 

[colly]

Accy the Butler was attempting reentry.

We've all been there sunshine. Way to go Accy.

 

[classic33]

A plan so daring that it would go down in history if he managed to pull it off.

 

[Reynard]

Meanwhile, Reynard, on her shrunk-in-a-boil-wash bike was still on the trail of the trolley full of FB pies. As fast as she could cycle, the dim silhouette was pushing the trolley just that little bit faster, and while she could just about stay on the tail of the perpetrator, she couldn't quite catch up.

Sensing this was turning into a bit of a chasse patate, she took her ash wood and unicorn hair wand from her fluffy sheep print thermal socks and pointed it at the receding silhouette.

"Petrificus Totalus", she yelled.

Through the fog, she heard a distinct thunk of someone hitting the deck. Returning her wand to her left sock, she pedalled towards the noise as fast as she could.

"Must get those pies," she muttered, huffing and puffing. "Must. Get. Those. Pies..."

 

[classic33]

"Arms & Elbows" aren't going to get them all to themself if I have my way.

 

[Oxo]

Reynard locked her bike to the trolley, took off her helmet, took off her cycling glasses, took off her fingerless cycling mitts, checked her distance and average speed on her Garmin, synced the result to her iPhone and turned her attention to the trolley. Lifting out one of the pies, she got out her girl guide tin opener and sampled the contents. Shock, horror, it was a counterfeit pie, a fake, an imposter. Somebody had switched the pies and made off with the real deal.
A name found it's way into her mind. No, it couldn't be. She tried to reject it, dismiss it, but it grew more and more insistent. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud but nonetheless the name made its way all the way back to Rebus. A name familiar to pie eaters everywhere, Vernon.

 

[User32269]

CHAPTER SEVEN​

Flinette McSteel, having escaped the clutches of Lance O'classic, had finally found contentment in a turbulent life. Now married and settled with Dapper Dirk, living an idyllic existence on the Devon coast, farming flamingos and running a successful pie canning operation. Dirk had abandoned the male pronoun, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, when he lived as Penelope. Nothing could now disturb this couple who were so deeply devoted to each other. Could it?

Italian Pat had been dismissed from her lucrative and prestigious job, editing a collaborative novel, as her ineptitude knew no bounds. The final straw had been a calamitous chapter numbering error, allowed into the final draught, amidst the tightly woven narrative and razor sharp prose. She had returned to her previous occupation as head of security with the infamous Glasgow Belles Mob.

Accy the butler had made fourth page of the Trumpton Times, with his daring escape from prison.

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​

Flinette gazed lovingly at Penelopes portrait above the log effect electric fire. Her gaze was drawn to the perfect view from the window. Three ramshackle, yet charming, beach huts, bold against the Devon sky, gulls wheeling lazily above.
This place was just beautiful.
Strangely, McSteel felt a fleeting stab of panic. She dismissed it. This was a premonition of what was to come; it should have been heeded.

 

[colly]

She Was wrong to dismiss her feelings so lightly. There was something wrong.

Those huts bold against the Devon sky.........YES. That's it. We're in Kent....
How the devil......??

 

[Reynard]

In the foggy darkness, Reynard rummaged around in the trolley looking for clues. At the bottom, she found a blonde wig (shoulder length with frizzy curls), a jumper in navy blue and white hoops with frayed cuffs, and a pair of black size 22 straight leg M&S jeans.

Seems like Big Hair was merely Rebus' alter ego.

Left with the trolley full of fake pies, Reynard wondered what to do with them. She took one and, using her wand, made it tap dance across the car park while she thought things out.