Delightfully nutty book - a basically anonymous narrator somewhere in Ireland who has done some things which might lead one to want to remain somewhat anonymous; after a benign youth in which his leg was broken on his behalf, he becomes a benign adult who only wants to engage in a little thievery here and there. He and his untrustworthy associate go to relief a house of the valuables in it when suddenly our hero finds himself in a very unusual place. He encounters two policemen at a one dimensional house who tell him about some interesting things like very pointy daggers, the dangers of allowing your identity to flow into bicycles and vice versa, and so forth. Our hero wants to maintain a relationship with his bicycle but the problem with the leg can be unhelpful in that regard. Ultimately a lot of silly stuff happens, with or without the collaboration of his fellow one legged unsavory ruffians who all also are trying to minimize associations with the titular policemen, until the astonishing revelations of the ending. If you enjoy this book, move on to At Swim-Two-Birds by the same author as soon as you can, because that one is also delightful.