That was the sound of Len knocking on the door of room 517, the penthouse suite.

“Entree!” Came the high-pitched voice of, who Len could only presume, was Madame Rosalita the cow. The richest cow in all of East Finchley. She was so famous she even came up in Google searches.

They used the keycard the receptionist had given them and entered the room. Madame Rosalita was spread out in the chaize lounge, fanning herself with one of those hand held fans.

“About time, my dears, about time? I’ve been waiting all afternoon… I take it your here about my rather large box.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My travel box.. with all my delicates inside. it is just too heavy for me to lift, and I would like to take advantage of your muscle.”

“You want to take advantage of my muscle?” Bert said, transfixed with the beauty of the plumb, vovacious, exotic Madame Rosalita.

“Yes please. I want it in the bedroom as soon as possible.”

“You can have it wherever you want it, Madame Rosalita the cow!”

“Good Boy, good boy! Do this small thing for me and I’ll give you a nice big pat on the head.”

Len nudged Bert “don’t forget why we’re here, Bert. Keep an eye out for the necklace!”

But Bert wasn’t listening… He was entranced by Rosalita… He sat by her side on the chaize lounge and took her hoof in his paw.

“Madame Rosalita… I’m afraid I have a confession to make…” He began.

Len froze.

Walking up the receptionist, who was a timid looking antelope in a blue uniform and glasses.

“We’re here to check the hotel fire alarms..” Len said, flashing his blockbuster video card – which had long since expired.

“Uh…gee…. I…er…. I mean, I er… I ain’t been told about that….” The receptionist stammered, looking scared to death that he might have to make a decision.

Len leaned in and read the receptionists name badge.

“Listen to me, Gareth the antelope… I spoke to the owner of this hotel just this morning and he assured me that you would co-operate…”

“You spoke to Mr Sebastian-Munchley?”

“Yes, that was his name, thank you.. I spoke to Mr Sebastian-Munchy…and he told me to ask you to give me the hotel master key so I , and my colleague here, can go and check all the fire alarms in all the rooms.”

“But, he…”

“Now we can talk about it all day if you like, you could even ring him and ask him, but every minute we waste we are risking people’s lives. What if there was a fire outbreak now, and a small family of hedgehogs were enveloped in flames and died a insanely painful, but avoidable, death, and all because we were wasting time down here? Would you like that on your conscience , Gareth? I know I wouldn’t?”

“Er…. Gee… No, i Guess I wouldn’t !”

“So hand me the master key Gareth and let us go and do out jobs.”

Gareth the antelope pulled a key-card from his key chain and handed in to Len.
Len and Burt then turned towards the lift.

“Oh, ” Len said, ‘i nearly forgot – what room is the rich lady staying in?”

“Mrs rosalita? She’s in the penthouse suite. Top floor.”

“Thank you, Gareth – you’re doing a bang up job.”

Gareth shook his head and waggled his hooves.

“I should be thanking you. You guys are heroes. I bet not enough people tell you that. Now go check those fire alarms – and tell them old Gareth sent you!!”

The newspaper said that Madame Rosalita (the cow) was staying at the East Finchley Hilton the night before the auction. A devious plan was forming in Len’s head.

“Would you like some corned beef, Len?”

“No thank you – have we got any spaghetti hoops?”

“No, we’ve just got corned beef.”

“I don’t like corned beef – I like spaghetti hoops!”

“But we haven’t got any!”

“Why not – I put them on the list didn’t I??”

“I didn’t have enough money for corned beef and spaghetti hoops – and I like corned beef so…”

“Just forget it!! This is more important!! Now sit down and I’ll explain the plan!”

“Ok… I’ll just pour the tea.”

Bert poured the tea into two chipped mugs, placed a mug in front of Len and sat down across from him.

“Ok.. listen up. ” Len said, “here’s the plan… ” He unrolled a map of East Finchley and held stopped in unrolling using a salt shaker and a bottle of ketchup. He then took a sip of his tea. “The way I see it is… Hang on, there’s no milk in this tea…”

“We don’t have any milk… The milkmans not been yet.”

“What are you talking about the milkmans not been yet… It’s half passed 5 in the afternoon!!”

“I know, but he still hasn’t been.”

“I’m going to have words with him when I see him.”

Len took another sip of tea and continued with his plan…

“This is what we’re going to do. Get plenty of rest in the next couple of hours, Bert because it’s going to be a long long night…”

“How much do you have?” Len asked.

“60p” Bert replied.

“How much do you have on your bank card?”

“30p”.

Len scratched his fleece.

“So….that means we only need £4999 and 10p by tomorrow morning to pay off Jimmy the Gopher.”

They sat on the side of the curb and put their heads together.

“We could always commit suicide.” Bert suggested. “Or..we could beg for it… I have an old hat at home.. we could use that to collect coins!” Bert said

“Bert my friend, we need close to 5000 pounds… I think we’d have to meet some very generous pedestrians to get even close to that. No,my friend… Keep thinking!”

“Could we borrow it?”

“With our credit? We don’t even have a bank account!!”

Suddenly, who happened to chance by, but Nigel the news newt on the opposite side of the street. He was carrying a satchel with that days local papers. He was waving one paper above his head.

“Read all about it – read all about it! Madame Rosalita the Cow to auction off her diamond necklace tomorrow at East Finchley Auction house. Expects to raise 250 thousand pounds for handicapped otters.”

Lens eyes came alive with light and fire. He grabbed Berts arm … “That’s it, Bert!! If we can’t beg for it, borrow for it.. then we’ll have to steal it!! Take that 60p and go and buy that newspaper!”

“Yes, about that… Funny story..”

“You better have a good excuse. You wouldn’t like me to give you some…. Orrible torment would ya?”

Lens face went white – the same colour  his fleece as it happens.

“Jeez Christ, no … Not orrible torment, Jimmy – anything but that.. I’ve got your money, Jimmy… I mean, I’ll have … By tomorrow.”

“Fair enough. You say you have it, I’m inclined to believe you. Let it never be said Jimmy the Gopher ain’t a fair guy. Me and the boys will be round your house tomorrow morning at 6am. If you don’t have it… Then we’ll all take a little trip out to my allotment. Capice?”

Lens head was nodding so hard Bert wondered if it might not break off.

“Whatever you say Jimmy, sure, tomorrow at 6….no problem at all.”

Jimmy the Gopher gave a slow crafty wink, the same way you’ve probably seen gophers wink down the zoo or the chip shop, and turned on his heels and went out the door.

“What are you going to do Len? We don’t have 5 grand!!”

Len looked up at the TV to see his horse limp into last place. He tore up his betting slip into confetti and dropped them on the floor.

“Ey-up, some’ones gotta clear that up, ya bleedin blighter!” Said the glass eyed, northern bookie Phil-the-whippet from behind his bullet proofed plastic partician.

Len sighed.

“Pick that up will you Bert.” He said.

It’s the hooves , you see. They will explain, “Those little pens they have down the bookies just aren’t made with hooves in mind. Something should be done about it.”

Like so many sheep before him, Len had the same problem. That’s why whenever he went down the bookies, he always had to take his best friend and house mate, Bert,  with him to hold the pen.

Bert was a bit younger than Len and was a Puma. Bert didn’t share Len’s love of gambling though, he saw at as good tinned corned beef money down the drain. So to summarise, Bert was a puma, lived with Len and liked corned beef. That’s about all you need to know about him for now.

Len stared up at one of the small screens in the bookies, transfixed as the horses left their starting posts.

“Which horse have you bet on?” Bert asked, trying to feign some interest.

..pinkbottom? Jimsbrowndoor

“Herfatfriend at 12-1. This comes in we’ll be laughing, Bert – I’ll treat you to a right nice knees up at the fox and lion. Could even go on that holiday we’ve always spoke about!”

“Shouldn’t you think about paying some money back to Jimmy the Gopher before you start thinking about holidays, Len?”

Suddenly, a furry paw landed on Len’s shoulder. Who should it be but the aforementioned Jimmy the Gopher. And he had been looking for Len.

“I’ve been looking for you, Len.” Jimmy sneered. He wore a brown cloth workman’s cap, slightly pulled down across one side of his face – in the style gophers often do.

He was softly spoken, but when he spoke – you listened. He had an air of menace amount him, probably born from all the local stories going around. One story said he had a special greenhouse on his allotment where he would tie people up and “subject them to ‘orrible torment” – so the story went anyway.

Len gulped. He was in debt to Jimmy the Gopher to the tune of 5 grand. And his horse had just fallen over.

“What a lovely kitchen you have Mrs..?”

“Appletree. Cynthia Appletree.”

“Yes it has a lovely view of the back garden, too.”

“How many sugars would you like, Mr..”

“Len. Call me, Len. I’ll take two sugars please. Say – is that a free-standing boiler?” Len asked, pointing to the boiler in the corner of the kitchen.

“Er yes… I mean, I think so.”

“Do you mind if I have a look at it? Boilers are a sort of hobby of mine..”

“Please, go ahead. Nobody’s ever taken an interest in my boiler before. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see my collection of porcelain elephants?’

Len walked over to the boiler and peered at it closely. As the old lady opened her fridge to take out the milk, Len discreetly blew out the pilot light.

“I’m afraid I’ve only got red-top milk, will that do, Len?”

“Cynthia… Did you realise that your boiler’s pilot light is out?”

“Is it…that’s odd…I, ”

Len sniffed the air. “Do you smell carbon monoxide?”

Still holding the milk bottle, Mrs Appletree sniffed the air as well.

“I don’t think I can smell anything – but then my sense of smell isn’t what it was… Is that bad?”

“Mrs Appletree, this boiler is a death trap!!  You are very lucky to be alive! Thank God I got here when I did!!’

“Its only a few years old..”

“Cynthia…” Len pounded the kitchen table for effect.. “You have to leave this house immediately! This boiler could explode at any time… And if the explosion doesn’t kill you – the carbon monoxide will!!”

“Leave my house?? Cant I just replace my boiler??”

Len sucked the air threw his teeth.

“Mmmm, a new boiler is very expensive you know…. I’m not sure,”

“But if it’s a life and death situation… You know about boilers – how much is a new one?”

“How much do you have?”

“I’ll just check my savings book….”

Mrs Appletree went out the room and came back a few moments later carrying a little blue pocketbook.

“I have £5039 saved up.”

Len shook his head sadly. “The cheapest boiler on the market is £5059”

The old lady looked very dejected. “Oh my oh my, what will I do???”

“Hang on!!” Len said, pointing to the £20 note on th table, “You’re forgetting the twenty pound I’ve come by to give you!! Added together with your savings that will just give you enough money for a new boiler!!”

“You’re right! Oh Len thank God you came along when you did!!”

“You leave everything to me, Mrs Appletree… ” He produced his clipboard and pen and handed it to the lady, “I just need a signature here, here…. And here.”

“Ding ding!” Went the doorbell, in the way doorbells often do.

“Winning mentality… Winning mentality..” Len said softly to himself as the door was answered by an old be-speccled dear wearing an apron and drying her eyes with a dishcloth.

“Good afternoon mam!” Len began, “let me introuc…”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to sell!!” The old lady snapped as she began to close the door again.

“Wait!” Len said, putting one hoof in the door jam, “I’m not selling anything at all…”

The old lazy looked at him suspiciously over the rim of her spectacles.

“You’re not?”

“No no… In fact I’m here to give you money!!” Len took out a 20 pound note from inside his wool, and waggled it about in front of the old ladies nose.

“…give me money? What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowing even more to the point where Len was surprised she could even see out of them.

“No catch. A free £20 note. All yours. Just take it and I’ll be in my way!”

The lady opened the door wider and outstretched her hand.

“… Of course I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea whilst I’m here!”

“Oh! Well, I suppose that’s the least I could do in…”

“Thank you madam!” Len said, stepping into  old ladies house….