The Scorpio detective agency company car is a black Leyland P76 with the likeness of a scorpion roughly stenciled in red onto the front-door panels. Digby and Dexter Poindexter are in it. Digby is driving and Dex is talking:
DP:—I mean to say, the Swiss Army? They haven’t been in a war since … never! And what are they going to do if they did get in one? Pull out their knives and uncork your bottle for you? Open your can of baked, beans?
DP: I mean, for Pete’s sake a nail file?
[Digby doesn’t appear to be interested in what Poindexter is saying. He looks bored.]
Dig: Uh most tin-cans have a ring-pull now.
DP: So do you know what this contact looks like?
Dig: No. He’s going to approach us.
DP: Well… I just hope he’s got the information we need.
Dig: I just hope this thing’s catered.
A large, dimly-lit, pattern-carpeted hall. Paintings and sculpture are spaced out along the walls and spot-lit in glowy golds from distant sources. The gathering of about forty people including Digby and Poindexter is ushered into one area and encouraged to sit on the floor. A man wearing overalls stands before them and starts talking with a slight French accent.
let us drift our minds to believing nothing
drift your mind into believing nothing
start repeating in your head, and mind — nothing
now, just be happy and want it to continue
you are nothing
but please don’t be disappointed — sometimes nothing doesn’t even work for me
say in your mind — nothing
people are strange
holding within them, nothing
only now, we are on the threshold of opening another mind and discovering nothing
everything is nothing to you when you truly believe—
Dexter Poindexter: [quietly] Which nothing is he talking about?
Digby: [Also quietly] Nuth-thing
Dig: No. NO - thing
DP: So when he says ‘nothing lasts forever’ he actually means something. Something like, er enegizer batteries?
Dig: No man, just nothing
DP: Like the anti-batteries – or anti-whatever he’s talking about …?
Dig: Batteries is something. Bubonic plague is something. Even dental floss is something. This [Digby motions forward at the performance] is nothing.
DP: I thought this was an art gallery.
The pundits and critics chatter, mill about in clumpy groups and circulate loosely around past the art. Digby stands by a table with an array of food laid out on it. He has a paper plate in hand and is eating from it in a methodical fashion while visually scanning the crowd. Poindexter stands nearby reading a catalogue.
Digby spots another table with a single plate of biscuits on it. He moves to it, picks one up, mutters ‘anzacs’ to himself and chomps on it. He eats a few more, unaware that the plate is spot-lit in the same way the pieces around the walls are.
From one of the clumps of art-goers a woman notices Digby and screams. Moments later her friends figure out why. A man points at Poindexter and Digby and yells, “Get ‘em, Eric!”
A white bunny rabbit hops daintily toward them. Dig and DP momentarily forget that they are about to be harranged by an angry art-mob and instead are grinning dumbly, transfixed by the rabbit.
It reaches Poindexter and starts nipping at his ankle. DP chuckles at first and then says, “ow, he’s biting me”. DP backs up a step or two against the wall, the rabbit hops playfully around his feet and keeps biting him. DP starts yelling, “Ow! ow! ow!”, although doesn’t make any attempt at what would seem to be an easy get away. Digby watches and laughs a bit, still holding his paper plate and eating anzac biscuits.
When people start to move in on them, Digby grabs DP, saying, “Let’s go”.
[Cut To – Scorpio Headquarters. ]
Vulcan Conray: What!? You’re saying you didn’t make the contact?
[Digby shrugs. DP is sitting on a chair, gingerly pulling down his sock to examine the bites. Conray catches a glimpse of the injury, squints and moves in closer. The bite marks forms letters and numbers.]
Conray: Hello what’s this? 22, J9. Sounds like a Melways [street directory] reference.
DP: So Eric the bunny rabbit was the contact!?