Desolate Jones

Detective Desolate Jones has just busted Piper Pocket-Picker for an unknown crime.
The crime seemed to have involved a small brown notebook. Suspicious and curious, Desolate Jones sets out to discover and solve unknown mysteries of what this strange notebook it all about and the dangerous secrets behind it's previous owners, with a lot of disastrous consequences.

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1. Piper Pocket-Picker.

Piper Pocket-Picker, also addressed as Piper Johnson, jumped from the pile of crates in Winslet's Warehouse, carrying a small brown notebook. He was just about to make a getaway in the black Mercedes, which was patiently waiting in the damp, deserted car park, when... 'I'd stop there if I were you.' That was the voice of Detective Desolate Jones, who was leaning casually against yet another pile of crates, his tanned coloured trilby hat tipped at an appealing angle. He was chewing on a toothpick and his smooth porcelain skin was calm, as if there wasn't a crime appearing before him, rather a little girl winning a trophy, and that makes everyone happy. His thin lips were curled into a small grin, as if to say, 'The game is up Piper, admit it.' Piper, being a mastermind criminal and high of the ranks robber, let out a small laugh, and then grinned back at Desolate. 'Long time, no see, Jones. I must of been in hiding longer than I thought.' 'Great to see you, Piper.' Said Detective Jones, followed by a cunning chuckle. 'So, what you doing with that notebook? I read in the paper, that it is never to be opened to anyone other than its creator, Gordon Franklin, who, unfortunately died last week.' Piper's grin grew even bigger. 'Ah! I see you still keep up on the research, just like the swotty little goody-two shoes you used to be way back in school,' Replied Piper. 'However, did you ever research on how to do this?' He said. Before Desolate could even ask him what he was talking about, Piper Pocket-Picker had charged across the room, holding out a machete. This didn't stop the famous detective. Just as Piper was about slash Desolate's left arm, Desolate threw out his right arm, grabbed the machete and threw it sideways, his eyes, and Piper's, following it until it landed in a wooden crate at the other side of the large, grey room. Piper's sly smirk had now turned into a snarl. He spun his head around to face Desolate, and once again Detective Desolate Jones was grinning. Before Piper could even ask why he was grinning, something felt very odd to him. His hands were empty. 'The notebook!' He spluttered. 'Looking for this?' Desolate waved it in front of Piper's startled face. Piper made a swipe for the notebook, but Desolate Jones was no fool. Throwing the notebook to the side, Desolate kneed Piper in the kidney, followed by a good headbutting, before pushing him backwards into a pile of crates. He picked up the notebook and dusted it before slipping it into his trench coat pocket. He checked Piper's pulse. Affirmative. And swiflty, he made his way for the exit, where you would expect an expensive-looking Chevvy to be waiting for him patiently. However, instead of this sparkling, gleaming car, stood a battered and dinted turquoise Morris Minor.

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