Private (Third) Eye - Ambling Further

With the smell of burning cafe and the tinkling of sirens in the air I turned into an alley way. I had no desire to see the boys in blue until I'd figured out what was going on. My jigsaw was missing a piece, probably an edge, and I needed to find the sofa it was under or the child whose mouth it was in. Those were metaphors. They had to be, just think how big a kid we would be talking otherwise. My shoes echoed off the walls. The urine just dripped down them. A bag tumbled out from behind a dustbin. I knew something was wrong when the bag spoke. "You with the head", (not that again), "you gotta help me." The bag looked a lot like a middle aged guy who needed a wash. "We all got problems Mr Bag and I ain't got time for yours." I wasn't being harsh. My nostrils were threatening to go on strike unless I aimed them away from him. "Buddy, please. My wardrobe. In my wardrobe." I don't know what he'd heard but I'd not been near his or any wardrobe since the hanger incident. "No, you don't understand". He'd got that right. "I'm a banker." He'd got that right too judging by the stains. "Or at least I was. They took it all and now they're going to take my house. If they do that they'll see what's in my wardrobe." This guy was either a whack job or he had something weird in his wardrobe. "What have you got in there? Tell me quick and try to aim yourself down wind." The bag opened his mouth. It could have been to answer, maybe he was just showing me his teeth, either way he didn't do anything other that grimace as a jar of jam hit him square in the eye. I looked over my shoulder just as seven or eight sponge fingers embedded themselves into the wall. The bag was clearing jam from his mouth (they really were very nice teeth) as 12 ounces of frozen raspberries peppered him. Could a raspberry pepper something? I didn't know. Before I could decide one way or the other I heard the telltale glug of a bottle in mid-flight, thrown right handed probably around shoulder height. Sherry. I'd bet the bag's life on it. I stuck out a hand and caught a Croft Original Pale Cream bottle. Mr Throwie Throwerson at least had some taste. "He's trifling with the wrong guy" I mumbled. The bag groaned. "All this for that one joke? That's terrible!" I'd had enough of this luggage. It was time to go. I took a swig from the Sherry then politely introduced the bag's head and the bottle. He'd have plenty of time to drink it when he'd woken up. I grabbed the bin lid and frisbee'd it down the alley towards the dessert fiend. Could it be the custard villain? I thought that was the was the plants leafy work. There was a lot to consider as I hot footed it to places unknown.