Free Trouble on the Heath by Terry Jones

was saying, as Malcolm walked in.
    â€œI tell you I don’t know!” the man replied.
    The couple turned and stared at him in surprise.
    â€œMy name is Malcolm Thomas. I am the chairman of the Highgrove Park Residents’ Association. Am I addressing Mr Grigori Koslov?” he asked in his politest Russian.
    â€œWhat the fuck?!” exclaimed Grigori, in less polite Russian.
    â€œGet lost!” snapped the woman.
    â€œIt’s you?!” said the gangster.
    Then something happened that Malcolm had not expected. The gangster sprang across the room and seized him by the throat.
    Malcolm tumbled back onto the carpet, and the gangster was still on top of him with his fingers round his windpipe.
    So that’s the knack of strangling people, Malcolm found himself thinking, but Grigori was shouting at him in Russian. What was he saying?
    â€œWhere is he? You bastard! Where is he?” That’s what the gangster was yelling.
    â€œWho?” Malcolm wanted to say, but he couldn’t because of the pressure on his throat.
    Suddenly Malcolm found himself flailing out. He was punching Koslov in the face, and then he had his hands round his head, and his thumbs were digging into his eyes, just as he’d found himself doing with Anton.
    Grigori tried to get his face away from Malcolm’s fingers. Eventually he had to let go of his windpipe so that he could grab his hands to stop Malcolm poking his eyes out.
    He flattened Malcolm’s arms onto the floor and held them there, panting for breath.
    â€œWho is this?” asked the woman.
    â€œThis is the bastard who’s got Anton!” replied Grigori. Then he shouted at Malcolm again. “Where is he? If you’ve harmed one hair of his head you’ll be sorry!”
    â€œHe’s fine!” Malcolm could only croak his reply. His windpipe was still sore.
    â€œI’ll kill you!” screamed the gangster. “I’ll kill you if you’ve done him any harm!”
    And suddenly he was holding a gun. “I’m going to kill you anyway! But first tell me where Anton is!”
    Malcolm wanted to point out the lack of logic in this demand but, in the stress of the moment, he couldn’t think of the right words in Russian.
    â€œAhh! I’ll find out anyway!” said Grigori. “Goodbye, Mr Malcolm Thomas! I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other!”
    â€œWhy?” screamed Malcolm. “Why are you doing this? All over a planning application!”
    â€œI know you work for Zolkin!” said Grigori. “I know he is planning to muscle in on my UK operation. Well, he’ll learn the hard way!” And the gangster stuck the pistol into Malcolm’s mouth.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” cried Malcolm, as clearly as he could with a .44 magnum in his mouth.
    â€œYou work for Boris Zolkin! Don’t deny it!”
    â€œI’ve never heard of him!”
    â€œDon’t lie to me!” For a moment Grigori took the gun out of Malcolm’s mouth, allowing him to say, “I represent the residents of Highgrove Park. We’re simply objecting to your plans to build a monstrous house in our road and block the view of the Heath! That’s all!”
    Grigori stopped in his tracks. For just the slightest fraction of a second he found himself believing what this man was telling him, but it was impossible! Of course Zolkin was behind it all! Probably that creep Ivan Morozov as well! He might as well shoot the bastard at once.
    He jammed the gun back into Malcolm’s mouth.
    When he heard the shot, the guard was drinking his thirteenth cup of tea of the day. He leapt so fast out of his seat that he spilt the drink over the table and stained his trousers.
    He ran as fast as he could towards the house. The other two guards were doing the same. They all arrived in the living room at the same time.
    A complete stranger was lying stretched out on the floor. His face and