"I wish to report an alien abduction."
"An abduction?"
"No, an alien abduction."
"Aliens?"
"No, just the one alien."
"An alien abduction involving just the one alien; is that right?"
"Yes, that's right, Inspector."
The policeman pulled out a form from his desk drawer and started writing.
"I see... name."
"Yyerg."
"Beg pardon, Sir. Did you say 'E Erg?"
"Yes, Yyerg."
"How are you spelling that, Sir?"
"Big 'Y', little y, e, r, g."
"Y, y?"
"Why what?"
The policeman crossed out what he'd written. "Can we start again, Sir?"

"I wish to report an alien abduction."
"No, sir, not from the beginning, just your name."
"Gerald Bolton."
"Gerald Bolton, Sir?"
"Yes."
"So why did you just tell me your name was E Erg?"
"I didn't."
"Yes, you did. You said your name was E Erg."
"No — that's the alien's name."
"You were on first name terms with this, er, this alien, were you?"
"Well, yes, I've known him for three weeks."
"Him?"
"Yes, he's um — er, a male alien."
"I see, Sir. Male. May I ask if acts of a homosexual nature formed any part of this, er alien abduction?"
"Certainly not! Yyerg has never laid a finger on me, well, tentacle really, as he doesn't have hands as such. Anyway, he's not remotely interested in men.
"So what did he do to you?"
"To me? Nothing. Though I am doing rather a lot for him. Two oscilloscopes, half a dozen programmable logic controllers, several circuit boards and—"
"—I can't help noticing you keep using the present tense, Sir,." interrupted the policeman.
"Well spotted, officer."
"I used to be in Special Branch, Sir. We're trained to notice these little nuances. Are you telling me the abduction is still going on?"
"Yes."
"Are you taking the piss?"
"Whatever gave you that idea, Inspector?"
"Three teeny little clues, Sir. One, you came in here to report an alien abduction. Two, you assure me the abduction is still going on. Three, the fact that you're sitting in that chair telling me this clearly demonstrates that you are not presently being held against your will by little green men."
"How did you know he's green?"

"NOW LOOK, Mr BOLTON, or E ERG, or whatever your real name is, I'm a Detective Inspector, not a bloody psychiatrist, and if you waste any more of my valuable time with this nonsense I will bang you up so fast your feet won't touch the ground. Am I making myself clear?"
"Quite clear, Inspector."
"Good."
"There is just one thing..."
"Yes?"
"I'm not being held against my will."
"I think we've established that, Sir."
"But Yyerg is. By my fiancee. She's the one who abducted him."
"So you've not been abducted by aliens?"
"No. That's what I've been trying to tell you all along. It was Romola's idea to abduct Yyerg in Westwood Spinney after his space ship crashed. I would have left the ugly green bastard to rot."
"Romola being your fiance?"
"Yes. She's keeping Yyerg a prisoner in her flat."
"Let me get this quite clear, Sir. Your fiancee, one Romola—?"
"Spencer."

The policeman's eyebrows shot up. "Romola Cassandra Spencer?"
"You know her?" asked Gerald in surprise.
"Let's just say she is known to us, Sir. A little matter of some white powder. Unfortunately her father is the Lord Lieutenant of the County so my enquiries were unexpectedly cut short. What does seem rather far-fetched is that she abducted a little green man in Purley three weeks ago and has been holding him against his will ever since. That IS what you're telling me, isn't it?
"Yes."
"Where?"
"At her flat?"
"Address?"
"14b Curlew Crescent, Purley."
The Policeman continued writing.
"For what purpose?"
"I'd rather not say, if you don't mind."

"I do mind. I mind very much." The policeman stood up, kicked back his chair and grasped Gerald by the lapels of his expensive armani jacket. "NOW LOOK, MUSH, I've had about enough of this. I don't know what your game is, but if you're not out of here in three seconds I'm going to lock you up and throw away the key. Am I getting through to you?"
"There's no need to take that tone", replied Gerald, shaking himself loose. "I'll have you know I'm one of Purley's leading Rotarians. I'll lodge a formal complaint with the Chief Constable."
"I don't care if you're a freemason and shagging the Chief Constable's wife. Get out of my sight before I give you some police brutality to complain about!"
Gerald slumped down in his chair and put his head in his hands. "Romola's having sex with him," he sobbed. "And so are most of her friends. In fact, I think she's charging them for it. It...he — has t-two dicks, you see. This morning she broke off the engagement..."
"Do you have any proof of this?"
"There are bundles of notes in her flat and the neighbours have started complaining about the droves of women coming and going at all hours of the day and night."
"How many women would that be exactly, Sir?" said the policeman, licking his pen.
"I don't know — about forty...sixty..."
"SEX - SIXTY?!" The policeman's eyes popped out on stalks. Something else popped out but was restrained by the tightness of his trousers. "Who are these women?"
"Portia Prettyman—"
"—The Bishop's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Good grief!"
"Sophie Mountjoy—"
"Not the daughter of the Marquis of Staines?"
"I'm afraid so, Inspector, and her younger sisters, Charley and Vikki—"
"Lady Charlotte and Victoria, but they can't be older than sixteen, Mr Bolton!"
"Seventeen and fifteen actually."

"Shocking, Sir, shocking", said the policeman, dropping his pen. "Who would have thought the teenage daughters of a peer of the realm could be so hot — ahem, hot headed — as to sink to such depths of depravity. This puts a very different complexion on things. It must be investigated with the full rigour of the law. Under age sex is a criminal offence. Under age sex with an alien is probably a hanging offence. TWO dicks, you say? Shocking! Did you actually see them?"
"Yes!" groaned Gerald miserably.
"Shocking, Sir, shocking. Did the little girl take it up both bottoms at once or deep throat the alien?"
"I don't know..." sobbed Gerald bitterly.
"I have to get to the bottom of these offences, Sir, however unsavoury."
Gerald nodded.
"Well!" said the policeman, rubbing his hands together, "I'll take some time to get the right team together for something this spicy — er, dicy. WPC French is on leave 'til Monday."
"WPC F-French?"
"Do you know her, Sir?"
Gerald blushed furiously. "Er, no, not exactly..."
"She has a lot of experience of sexual debauchery among loose women, Sir."
"I can well believe it, Inspector," said Gerald with a shudder.
"I take it the alien will still be at Ms Spencer's flat on Monday?"
"I've told you, the women have imprisoned him and take it in turns to have sex with him at all hours of the day and night."
"Shocking, Sir, shocking. The lengths to which some young women will go to satisfy their unnatural urges. I'll pick you up at 6 am on Monday morning then — unless you'd rather not be involved?"
"No — I want to see the filthy bitches get what's coming to them."
"I think they already have, Sir."