Viv watched with incredulity as the Tour de Force van swung into the station and screeched its brakes in front of two emerging American girls wearing backpacks. The fat anoraked figure of Max Force hopped out of the van and waved a gun at the two cowering students who were bundled into the back of the mini-van. Viv's shock turned to terror as Max's attention suddenly rested upon him. He had been spotted witnessing a kidnapping, and the mad fucker had a gun. With fumbling hands, Viv started his cab and with a ducked head, he put his car into a breakneck U-turn.

"Hi Viv!" shouted Max waving his novelty cigarette lighter in greeting, but Viv was already out of firing range, over the hill and speeding back into town.

"I want a word with you" demanded Deborah Kwon as she marched towards Victor Peach, who was up a ladder hanging a sign saying "Now serving international cuisine" over the door of the Three Headed Dog.

"What is it?" muttered Victor Peach, whose mind was fixed on a late delivery of boil-in-the-bag coq au vin.

"You know what it is!" bellowed Deborah Kwon, brandishing one of Victor's fliers boasting, among other things, 'oriental cuisine'.

"I have nothing to defend myself against. I am totally within my rights" Victor returned in a high-falluting tone, not daring to look down and catch Deborah Kwon's fearsome eyes, and secretly wondering whether he could reach the bathroom window from his current position on the ladder. Victor Peach knew that his scheme to convert the pub into a country club had hit its first real obstacle. He had already tried to improve his clientele by putting his drinks up by 5p and barring the Peacock boy. Further modification included a plan to convert the pool room into a squash court and the installation at the front of the pub of a fetching stone cherub armed with a bow and arrow, which Victor thought looked just the thing.

"What the hell are you playing at Victor? I've worked fucking hard to get the restaurant up and running and now you're trying to shut me down with microwaved spare ribs and multipack prawn crackers". By this time, Deborah Kwon had her hands on the ladder and Victor Peach knew that the wrong word may mean broken bones.

"I'm not trying to close you down" said Victor Peach quietly, eyes fixed on the wall. "I'm just trying to run a business". Deborah Kwon gripped the ladder and stared up at the prospect of the underside of Victor's tread bare loafers and huge brown corduroy packaged buttocks. She tapped the side of the ladder with both index fingers and wondered what would happen if the ladder was to fall over.

"Are you going to come down and talk about this?" she snapped. A subdued "No, I don't think so" came from somewhere beyond the buttocks. There was a moment's silence as Deborah decided what to do which was broken by a strangled whisper. "Now, you're not thinking of pushing this ladder over are you? B-because there are witnesses" Victor urged staring pleadingly at a cat sunning itself on an adjacent window.

"No", Deborah replied coolly. "There's more than one way to bring you down a rung or two". With that she gave a worryingly carefree laugh and left.

Viv had reported over the cab radio that Max Force had gone mad and was at large. Chris Cubb then passed this information onto Rick O'Shea who was busy soaking up the small strip of sun emerging from the rainclouds, keeping one eye on the German kid who was standing on the decking humming to himself and going through some kind of Tai-bo routine, and every so often glimpsing the flashing binoculars of Marianne Ketch at the guesthouse. Before Chris Cubb's taxi had turned up, he had been considering his gambling debts and wondering whether his father, a parish priest, had the kind of cash to bail him out. Perhaps if Rick agreed to display the Christian literature in his "InfoZone" rack, Reverend O'Shea would stump up the loot. Of course, the only problem with spreading the good news is it tended to put off potential new pussy. Rick had always been against established religion ever since an elderly woman farted next to him at the communion rail aged 10. Of course, he was a deeply spiritual person, but preferred the teachings of Padre Ravi Widangwidang – who preached that inner peace came through love of oneself combined with the regular purchase of healing crystals and instructional DVDs. Chris Cubb's puttering engine and shrill voice had interrupted Rick's meditation, but he had managed not to pay much attention until Chris had mentioned female American backpackers. "Has anyone called the police?" asked Rick urgently, eager to retrieve his natural property. Chris Cubb wasn't sure about this, but he wasn't to know that the police were being kept well out of it.

Although the sun had only made a brief appearance that day, it soon disappeared behind a fresh batch of storm clouds as the day gave way to evening and a cold wind picked up. Dean Peacock was standing outside the Three Headed Dog admiring his handy-work. Having received the indignity of being barred that day, he had taken the opportunity of Victor Peach's absence (he had closed up for the day and had gone to a delivery depot searching for a missing order of coq au vin) to take the bow and arrow from the cherub and replace it with an inflated condom. It was a quality piece of work, even by Dean's high standards of vandalism, and made Victor Peach the proud owner of one masturbating stone child. By coincidence, he had dumped the bow and arrow in a skip outside "Prog Wok", the restaurant belonging to Deborah Kwon. The one attribute if the master criminal that Peacock had yet to learn was the leaving the scene of the crime pretty soon after said crime had been committed one. So pleased was Dean of his creation that it didn't occur to him to remove himself even after an angry Vincent Peach had parked his aging Landrover, had spotted crime and criminal and was closing in on Peacock's location with great purpose.

At about the same time, an individual had decided to put a stop to Max Force's gunpoint tour. Whilst Max Force was deciding how to reconfigure the tour for the new captives in a way that wouldn't be too repetitive for the old captives, his minibus was broadsided by one of two Tangle Bay Taxi Company's high-powered black BMWs. The other BMW blocked the minibus' progress and Max received a pistol whip round the head as his passengers were unloaded and reloaded into the BMWs by two leather jacketed, aviator wearing hardmen. Max lay still a while trying not to sniff blood and pretending he had been knocked unconscious. He heard the men instruct his clients to "get out" then more faintly to "get in" as he was left with the man who had soiled himself. "We'll come back for this one, Frank, once I've dug out the tarp" said one of the taxi drivers, apparently unwilling to pollute his upholstery. Once the cars had left, Max grabbed his novelty lighter and escorted his final paying punter over the wall of Keith and Marianne's guesthouse, just as the overcast sky darkened and a cold rain began to fall.

"I didn't do nothing. Reckon a ninja did it or something" was the best that Dean Peacock could come up with as he was pinned against the wall by one of Victor Peach's meaty paws. "You little thug" rasped Victor Peach, "and to think I fought in a war for the likes of you". The fact that the war with Iceland involving fishing rights wasn't really a war and was settled by the European courts did little to stifle Victor's strong sense of outrage. "Where's my bow and arrow, you little bastard? You bring it back or I'll knock your ruddy block off" Victor spat, before noticing the three twenty pound notes in Dean's pocket, that he had cashed in earlier that day. "I don't know where it is" Peacock squirmed desperately, "probably in a skip somewhere". Despite Victor's overwhelming urge to boil Dean Peacock in a bag, two immediate thoughts couldn't help entering his mind. First, the only skip in town was outside Deborah Kwon's restaurant. Second, Dean Peacock NEVER had money on him, hence his attempt earlier in the year to pass off black and white photocopied five pound notes as the real thing. While not a racialist, Victor had always believe that Oriental types had a great taste for vengeance. Not that he had done anything wrong, but Kwon had definitely threatened him. "She paid you to do it, eh." stated Victor releasing his grip on Peacock a little. Dean Peacock had no idea who "she" was or what the old man was on about, but breathing felt better than not breathing. "What if she did?" ventured Dean cautiously, just to test the waters. It seemed to work. "Gave you 60 quid did she?" asked Victor eyeing Dean's pocket, with something like a slight smile on his face. "What if she did?" asked Dean, still totally baffled, hoping that the answer would prove as successful a second time round. It did. "Then I'll do better. One hundred. You can deliver a little message for me".

"All right" said Dean, hoping that 'one hundred' meant pounds, but not understanding quite how events had led up to him getting it.

"You'll never guess who's coming up the driveway" Marianne Ketch wittered excitedly from behind her binoculars. Keith looked up and winced. The storm clouds were gathering, it was getting dark and it was soon time to collect his mother from the station. While he had spent the entire day painting and repainting the skirting board according to his wife's whims, his 'better half' had been pressed to the glass, as usual, paying special attention to the youth hostel owner whilst his shirt was off. "I don't know" Keith replied presciently, "a mad man waving a gun". The disturbing combination of Keith and sarcasm worried and annoyed Marianne so much that she was forced to momentarily abandon her binoculars. It worried her because after 18 years of marriage, Marianne had rarely known Keith to step out of line. There was the toaster incident of 1993 and the affair he had found out about (although even she had to admit that he was entitled to let off a bit of steam over that one), but by this time she thought any hint of bolshiness had died along with the follicles on top of his head. It annoyed her because what she had to report was so interesting. The curly haired bespectacled guest she had spotted at the Youth Hostel was now advancing up their path wielding a bow and arrow. Typical of Keith not to be interested in anything worthwhile, she thought. She looked at him down on all fours painting over his hideous crème with her inspired eggshell blue. She stared at her slight reflection in his gleaming bald spot and surveyed his paint-splattered green sweatshirt and worn out chinos pulled up too high. She hated him.

"Hi Marianne. Hi Keith. Sorry not to knock but I'm in a pickle" said Max apologetically, appearing with his hostage at gunpoint. "You don't mind if I hand about here for a bit do you?" he asked, wrinkling up his nose and smiling sheepishly. Marianne said "Oh God" and Keith managed "Hi Max" but kept his paintbrush close.

Rick O'Shea returned to his hostel empty handed, unable to find his backpackers. Chris Cubb had been good enough to ferry him about the place, but had charged him nonetheless – explaining that he needed each and every customer to 'keep the wolves at bay'. In return, he promised that he would bring all new arrivals in the village to the Youth Hostel. However, when Rick returned to the hostel he was a little to find his German boy disappeared. He finally found a note in reception saying "DEAR PROPRIETER.  GONE TO THE GUESTHOUSE BECAUSE OF A WEAPON. DIETRICH, 202". Retrieving his Dad's bird watching glasses sure enough he could make out the fat nerd stood by the parlour window with an armed Max Force talking to Marianne Ketch. So they had all finally lost it. The village had finally gone mad. Max Force and the Ketch's were working together. Kidnapping the tourists and providing tours and holding cells in some kind of Baghdad visitor's package deal. Rick could have sworn he had seen Deb Kwon give that local kid a petrol can and some cash, but at the time he'd assumed he's imagined it – so distracted as he was by his libido. But now he had seen desperate acts in such quick succession. He could believe anything. He was about to pick up his paintball gun and head over when he spotted two armed men climb out of a BMW next to Max Force's battered minibus.

"This whole place has gone mad cous, I'm telling you. Like, gangster shit or something" Viv whispered down his phone. He had just witnessed Chris Cubb practically force an old woman into the back of his cab while she kept protesting "I'm waiting for my son". Once Chris Cubb had given up on diplomacy and tried strong-arm tactics, the old woman retaliated with a rolled up brolly. Despite everything, Viv forced himself to suppress a giggle as it looked like Timmy Mallet was finally facing his own Wackaday.

What Rick O'Shea had witnessed the final escalation in the skirmish between Prog Wok and the Three Headed Dog. After Victor Peach had paid Dean Peacock £100 to deliver a message (tied to a brick) to Deborah Kwon, Dean had got the wrong end of the stick and rather than throwing it through her window, he had knocked on the service entrance and hand delivered it to her. At that point, Deborah's only crime had been to ring her lawyer brother in Whitechapel to see if there was anything she could do about Victor's culinary assault, but now she knew that Victor had gone to Defcon 1, she was determined to follow suit. She sent Dean back to the Three Headed Dog with £150 and some paint instructing him to paint "Peach is an unscrupulous bastard". Peacock had no idea how to spell 'unscrupulous', 'bastard', 'Peach', 'an' or 'is' so instead settled for painting a penis on Victor's landrover. For this he received a slap round the head from Victor, £200 and some extremely strong laxatives to put in the food coming out of Prog Wok's kitchens. Dean made it back as far as the kitchens and managed to secrete the whole lot into a batch of chicken chow mein.

"What are you up to back here?" asked Deborah, emerging from cold storage. "What did that bastard send you to do?" Dean Peacock wasn't a very effective liar, but somehow he had managed to acquire nearly £500 in vandalism money and he liked it, a lot. From somewhere, Dean Catona Peacock grew a brain. Like the kid from nowhere who is enlisted and suddenly becomes a war hero, Dean found himself in an arena full of possibilities, a time to prove himself to himself. "That Peach bastard only paid me to come back and do something back to you. You know, cos I painted all that writing. You know that he was an unstuperless dickhead..."

"An unscrupulous bastard" corrected Deborah sceptically.

"Yeah, well, when I did it I had it writed down, didn't I..."

"What did he want you to?" asked Deborah impatiently.

"Only...err...." Dean scanned through the possibilities: bazooka you up, cap your arse, slap your mum, smash up your kitchen..."Only, smash up your kitchen..."

Deborah Kwon wasn't sure if she believed him. How was a squirt like him expected to complete such a task, particularly when the maitre d' (Ken) was 6''2' and had a black belt in tae kwondo. She was also puzzled as to why he hadn't attempted it but supposed that even this simpleton knew his limitations.

"So why aren't you smashing up my kitchen? Isn't that what he wanted you to do?"

"Well yeah...but, listen Debs. I'm on your side innit? I hate that old fucker. He barred me, didn't  he. He always is having a go at me. I don't want to smash up your kitchen. I like you..."

He could see from Deborah's reaction that she wasn't buying this last statement.

"Well, all right" he said, trying to save his defence, "Maybe I don't like you anymore than the other fuckers here...but my mum likes that chow mein thing you do, and she would thump me if she knew I'd smashed up the best chinkies in Tangle Bay".

Although Deborah baulked at the word "chinky" she could tell from Dean's glazed, doe eyed expression that the insult was not meant. She also knew, from the takeaway run she occasionally had to do when Ken was off, that a disproportionate amount of chow mein went over to skid row (as she thought of it) and that Peach's contemptuous treatment of this boy was legendary, even of he probably deserved it.

"I don't believe you" said Deborah gently, "But it doesn't matter. He's gone too far, and I want you to show him that. He may be a lunatic, but I'm not. So listen, I want you to set fire to that sign of his. The one above the entrance, and then that'll be the end of it".