**WARNING: If you haven’t read Part 1 then none of this will make any bastard sense**
Welcome back to Part 2 of The Man with the Golden Carrot.
When we left, our furry little hero had completed his ‘training’ and was awaiting a call from his mysterious contact…
So yeah, the guy rang me up and gave me my first assignment. Paid too by the way, I wasn’t just doing this for kicks. £50 to apply the tracker and x amount per mile travelled. Not bad.
He gave me the details:
Go to this address in Swansea, there will be a sports car on the driveway. Stick the tracker on without being seen and leave.
The ‘case’ was typical. Woman suspected her husband of cheating on her and wanted proof that he’d been somewhere he shouldn’t. Like her sister vagina for example.
Now, the date I had to do this job clashed with me doing a disco in Bristol but I didn’t want to miss out. That meant I did a four hour stint playing Rick Astley and the like til midnight and then off I raced to Swansea in the wee small hours clad completely in black with the Mission Impossible theme playing in my head.
That’s not even a joke. I was dressed from head to toe in black, no logos, and I was repeating the MI Theme tune.
As I neared the thriving metropolis that is Swansea the heavens absolutely opened. Properly belting it down it was. By the time I got to the area it was under a good inch of water. I found the address which was up a hill and it was a dead end so the only way out was the road you came up. Cleverly I decided to turn the car round before parking just incase I needed to make a quick getaway before a massive Welsh lothario caught me tampering with his motor and decided to bugger me over his bonnet.
I left the car and approached the address from across the road, clinging to wall opposite as not to be seen. Then I saw something. Something I didn’t expect.
They were still up.
It was 2am on a Sunday morning and the bastard was sat in the window watching the TV!
I’d not once considered that they would be anything other than asleep in a pitch black house. Worse still the car in question was right under the window!
I crossed the road and crouched below the front wall to the house, glancing up and down the road to make sure no one was about.
Still crouching, I slowly inched onto the drive and behind the car, nervously looking up at the window to make sure there wasn’t a half naked behemoth staring at me. Now relatively safe at the side of the car, which was now shielding me from view of the house, I took the tracker out of my pocket and placed it under the car.
It wouldn’t stick.
I tried again. Still nothing. Was it a rubber car?? I Panicking I felt along the underside of the vehicle. It felt plastic! There was some sort of panel there running its full length. I knew what I had to do. Go round the side underneath the window.
I popped my head up and could see they were still in there watching the box so I shuffled along beneath the window. It seems so obvious looking back that it would have the panelling on both sides. I couldn’t stick it on. What could I do? I wasn’t supposed to stick it at the front or back of the car because it might be too visible. I couldn’t call the mystery man because I’d look like a prize twat who couldn’t do the job.
At this point I was back out on the road opposite weighing up my options. I decided to give it one more bash.
Now at this stage it had stopped raining but it had left a nice big puddle all around this blokes motor and the only choice I had to try and find something metal under the car was to lie in this sizable pool of dirty water.
Lying in a puddle in Swansea fiddling round with another mans undercarriage at two in the morning was one of those moments where you stop and evaluate the choices you’ve made in life, but not for long mind, I didn’t want to get a kicking.
At last I heard a heavy ‘clunk’ that confirmed the magnets had found something to latch on to. I gave the device a tug (oo-er) to ensure it wouldn’t fall off and thankfully it held strong.
Relieved I ran across the road but glanced back to see the house in darkness. He’d got out of his seat, switched the TV off and left the room without ever noticing that there was a Bristolian Noir on his land.
Needless to say as I drove home afterwards, dripping wet with the heat on full whack, I was buzzin’ off me tits, high as a kite on adrenaline and comforted by the fact that I did indeed have massive balls.
I could wait for the next one.
And the next one wasn’t far away..