The Trixxer (Der Wixxer)

Dieter, if you haven't found the hotel in five minutes,

I'll turn around and go back to Bitterfeld by foot.

Why? It's rather pretty here.

You promised me romantic days in London.

Castles, beautiful landscapes...

Was that you, Dieter?

I'm afraid not.

I bet it was the hound of Blackwhite Castle!

The beast that's killed many lost hikers.

I read it in the SUPER TABLOID the other day.

Aren't you a cute one?

At least he can read humans.

Dieter, don't run so fast. We're on holiday.

Do you even know where you're going?

You've got the sense of direction of a disoriented blind ox,

that hasn't got any sense of direction.

Don't listen once, don't listen twice,

don't listen thrice...

Don't listen 10 times... Don't listen 582 times...

Don't listen 2583 times... Don't listen...

Why of all the losers on this earth did I have to marry the king?

Everyone warned me.

Mom warned me, granny, grandad,

my brothers, our neighbor, the whole national security.

And I even said, "Dieter, buy a new map!"

Good evening. Dubinsky.

That's the Black Abbot, you fool!

No? So are you the Strange Countess?

Whip-August With the Pointy Hat?

"The Monk With the Whip."

We really could've guessed that, Dieter!

Sometimes I'm just so slow-witted.

And presto, he was gone!

Just to be fair, I do have to admit that it was very dark.

And the monk was only dimly lit.

On the other hand: If he had crossed a crosswalk...

Doris?

Doris?

Hello. This is Edgar Wallace's neighbor. THE WANKER

Who is the Wanker?

The Wanker strikes again!

A city in panic! - I am NOT the WANKER!

London in the stranglehold of the Wanker!

Wanker still at large - Scotland Yard helpless.

WANKED OFF! KILL THE PIG!

Wanker strangles wire-haired dachshund.

This is what the Wanker looks like on the inside!

Bussi Bar vs the Wanker!

Inspector killed - Scotland Yard is done for.

Yard Chief Inspector Even Longer - chasing the killer by himself?

Very Long exchanges yo-yo for police uniform.

Inspector Very Long reaches required standard!

Hot sex games with the Wanker.

Crazy! How to dress like the Wanker!

The Wanker - Success is sexy!

The Wanker - Why doesn't he go the the East?

Who is the Wanker?

Englishmen have tiny wieners!

A monk's been murdered? Oh, yes, I understand.

Yes, yes.

Yes... And send regards to your husband. Yes.

Until then, James.

- Miss Minipony? - Sir John?

Where the hell is the Chief Inspector?

I need my best man on this case.

- Morning, Sir John. - Dear God, Even!

You look gross!

Thank you.

You know what? You should stop letting yourself go like that.

I know how much the whole thing with your partner got to you.

Rather Short is dead.

And I couldn't prevent it.

That's right.

But still.

You should finally stop mourning him.

The whole thing was so long ago.

When did he die again?

- Last Tuesday. - There you go!

And you know what? I've got something guaranteed to cheer you up.

- You have cancer. - No.

I have a new partner for you.

A wonderful good morning. I am so happy...

Have you completely lost it?

He was the best at police school.

And he's really cheerful.

Exactly what you need in your current state of mind.

Happy to finally meet you.

Whoops, my bowler hat.

Well, as long as all the vitamins aren't gone.

Gentlemen... Inspector Very Long, Chief Inspector Even Longer.

I'll do everything to be a perfect partner for you.

My last partner has died. You can start with that.

I can see you two have chemistry.

By the way, Inspector Long won last year's yo-yo derby.

Attention please!

The window.

Peekaboo!

- The Eiffel tower. - Yes!

And the toothbrush.

Bravo!

I'm going home now.

So let's begin, my gentlemen.

The monk with the whip was murdered.

One of the most wanted criminals of this city,

and now victim to a crime himself!

Let me guess. No sign of the perpetrator.

Not entirely true.

This time, we have a witness.

Take a seat.

This is Dieter Dubinsky.

A tourist.

- He's from East Germany. - My condolences.

Please.

Well, you know, it was like this...

We were walking through the forest.

And then this monk appeared.

And then he was run over by a truck.

Hold on. You said "we."

Is there another witness?

Yes, Doris. But she disappeared, too.

Why didn't you tell us from the start?

I'm sure you're busy enough as it is.

I'm assuming she just drowned somewhere in the swamp, and that's it.

Did you get a look at the driver?

It was this weird bone-headed guy with a top hat.

The Wanker.

He's been tyrannizing the city for years.

About time I finally get rid of that bastard.

Don't you mean "we," sir?

My first crime scene.

And it's immediately in the air, the rotten smell of crime.

I haven't had time to shower this month, yet.

Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Clean?

No, of course not. Someone as busy as you...

There are days, when I myself only manage to shower once.

But speaking of health.

Even lungs have an expiration date.

- Morning, Dr. Brinkman. - Ah, Chief Inspector!

And? What have you found out?

I haven't concluded all tests,

but everything is pointing towards

the monk being run over by this truck.

I understand.

He can't have died long ago.

- The body is still warm. - No, that's just the motor.

A few of the guys went to the petrol station earlier to get sausages.

- Hello! - Bon appetit!

Guys, I can't work like that!

Do you know who owns the car? - Not yet, unfortunately. But...

the cover of the driver's seat is made of Peruvian llama fur.

A few of the guys are on a plane to Peru as we speak.

Good job.

- Have you checked the license plate? - Here.

Painted tin plate. But...

there are millions of them. Basically every car has one.

Chief Inspector?

I believe I've found a rather decent clue.

"International Tampons"

"Harry Smeerlap GmbH, London in England, 12B at the Thames"

"Probably has to do something with the whole thing."

My people must've overlooked that somehow.

My, my.

Harry Smeerlap.

A.k.a. Laus Linski, a.k.a. Fritz Karaldo, a.k.a. Horst Feratu...

Let's talk to that dodgy Mr. Smeerlap then.

Later.

First I want to go to the location of the monk's death.

Not in London - but in England

Pommeroy... Fitzgerald.

The monk is dead.

We desperately need a new accountant.

- Are there no candidates from the applicants? - They're all amateurs!

It's unbelievable what the employment agencies are sending us these days.

Here. This one's called "The Monk with No Whip."

Well, it's just missing something.

"The Smurf with Herpes."

He looks too mean.

Pommi! Fritti!

How am I supposed to run a business for girl trafficking...

with two imbecile sons and a dead accountant?

The times have changed.

Women don't let themselves be humiliated by their husbands or in brothels anymore.

- Instead... - On TV?

Right.

- And that's why we export... - Talk shows?

No!

Girl groups.

Stop. Stop it! Thank you.

Thank you, thank you.

Susan, first I'll tell you what I enjoyed.

Absolutely nothing.

And now, what I didn't like.

Everything else.

We'll call you.

But my ladies, please, please.

Don't take this personally.

This is just a casting.

Excuse me, Mr. Cockwood.

Okay, maybe Sue didn't sing all that well.

But many of us didn't do that much better. Mandy...