Sunday, 25 December 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon – Day 15

I hate prison cells, especially in the winter. Somehow I always seem to be put in the cell that has the broken central heating and I never seem to be in the cells when food is being served! Don't get me wrong, the food they serve in this place is probably worse than aeroplane and hospital food combined, but it's a matter of getting my monies worth from the experience.

I'd been brought in before lunch, been put in an interrogation room when they were serving lunch, put in a cell mid-afternoon, put back in an interrogation room when they served dinner and then left over night to waste away to nothing. I'm sure if they wanted me to talk they would just have to feed me a mouthful and I'd tell them anything the wanted to know just to end the ordeal.

It was bad enough that I'd been brought in for telling men in suits to stop trespassing and get out of my office. Granted there had been a lot more insults and a lot more profanities used in creating sentences to communicate with them but really, was arresting me fair?

My biggest problem was that I didn't know what they wanted in the first place. I'd been arrested for disturbing the peace. I'd hardly call shouting at the top of my voice disturbing the peace, but apparently when it starts babies crying two streets over it counts...

Somehow it didn't feel like a coincidence that the day I managed to get back and was on the verge of forgetting all about the abominable Mrs. Weldon and Henry A. Weldon when the two suits appear in my office.

There are many things in life I would probably do differently, not listening to Daniel Bedingfield and losing thirty seconds of my life that I will never get back would always be top of the list, however right now meeting with Henry A. Weldon would be a very close second.

It only took Fred 18 hours to come down and gloat. Except he didn't gloat, surprisingly, he was actually genuinely concerned. If anything would worry me, it's getting a visit from a worried, normally insufferable now police sergeant.

Sometimes I wonder how on earth I manage to get into these situations.

Sunday, 13 November 2011


Reason why Mondays aren't the greatest day of the week: -
1) Traffic queues always seem to be so long that even the pedestrians end up being twenty minutes late.
2) Being two minutes late to the pub makes you miss food being served even if you've known the owner and manager for more than a decade.
3) Death threats seem to be much more forth coming from strangers.
4) Random outbursts if violence from strangers seem much more likely and twice as frequent as death threats.
5) Urban areas seem to be transformed into areas of guerilla warfare.
6) Concentration seems to be negatively impacted by all of the above.

     Well okay the fifth one suits me just fine – especially as it seems to provide a welcome distraction for the police force and a certain highly irritating sergeant! For some reason following me about the city seems to go hand in hand with promotion in the police.
     If the correlation between time spent with me and speed of promotion was charted and distributed as a training publication then I'm sure many more people would soon be gracing the dizzing heights of detective-hood.
     However number 6 is a bit of a problem – especially when 3 and 4 are an everyday occurrence anyway that just seems to be amplified by the fact that it's Monday.
     Monday's are also historically a slow day for business – something that battling for survival out on the streets of the city makes either the phone lines act up or people less likely to call.
     Odd really, a slightly psychotic P.I. makes an extremely good bodyguard against commuter warfare. Still, can't expect the ordinary man of extremely limited intelligence to realize such an obvious fact. He also is highly unlikely to be able to afford the bodyguard service as I do like to consider my life is worth a fair amount of money. That and bodyguard work is highly boring.

Friday, 7 October 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 14

So what was supposed to be an easy two weeks earning a ridiculous salary has turned into a bit of a surrealistic nightmare. Oh sure it's not been boring, but sometimes I really would like there to be a boring fortnight or two where I don't get arrested or hospitalised or shot at...hmmm though on second thoughts that doesn't sound like it would be all that much fun...

Back to the point though.

This was supposed to be a boring two weeks of following around a very indiscreet woman and reporting back to her very dull husband at the end of it that she was cheating on him, earning a massive amount of money as well as the stupid woman getting what she deserved for not being able to be even the slightest bit cunning in the way she carried on her affairs.

If you have been reading this for the duration you will already be aware that this is not the case, and that on the whole things have begun to stink of being a set up for something that I can't really understand. Especially when I manage to get back to my apartment before 8:30am, when I have been on a long night of spying at the Weldon manor, to discover two gentlemen in suits sitting in my office waiting for me.

Gentlemen in suits are always trouble; businessmen, policemen, spies, politicians, grooms, teenage boys on the way to their prom, teenage boys on their way home after being arrested for fighting at their prom – always, always, always trouble.

I had already had to help one extremely infuriating policeman by the name of Fred Barlow escape from the clutches of Mrs. Henry A. Weldon whilst dodging bullets and Wedgwood projectiles only to be threatened with arrest by the aforementioned irritating upholder of the law. Some people just don't know how to say thank you!

So after all this, having to deal with all this, the last thing I wanted to do was face two gentlemen dressed in suits who had decided to let themselves in. What was worse is they both looked to be stereotypically official...FBI, MI:5 kind of official...It was at this point that I decided that sleeping in a prison cell or hospital bed would have been preferable to walking through that door. Unfortunately, there were no gunfights breaking out in the stairway and I had already dropped Fred off at his home. So I could either go and sleep in a hotel or walk through the door and threaten the two men until they left.

Why is it I always seem to choose the more difficult option?

So I went into my office, told the two men to get out of my there before I shot them...three hours later I woke up in a prison cell...definitely not boring.

Friday, 30 September 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon – Why am I still awake?

Seriously, I should be in bed by this point in the night, it now being 3:15am, but what was I doing instead? I was sneaking up to the side of a house that belonged to a man who had hired me to spy on his wife, who had me locked in a wardrobe for three days, to rescue a seriously annoying cop who had me arrested for trespassing when I managed to break out of the wardrobe and escape!

There is a little voice that is asking me what the hell I think I am doing going to help Fred instead of going home and climbing into my very warm and comfortable bed and, in all fairness to the little voice, I don't have any convincing arguments as to what on earth was possessing me to do this. Other than the obvious gloating rights that come from rescuing a boy in blue from a situation when he has gotten in way over his head...come to think of it, there aren't many things I wouldn't do in order to get some gloating rights over Fred.

For some reason it seemed necessary to have my guns drawn as I approached the house – nothing like being knocked out and incarcerated to put a girl on her guard – fortunately, this time, nobody seemed to be aware that I was even within fifty miles of the place (I wished I was more than fifty miles away from Henry A. Weldon and his horrific wife).

Rescuing people often goes much smoother when you have a plan as how you are going to accomplish such said actions. Sadly I hadn't really thought far enough ahead to actually plan and instead had fallen back on my usual course of action – improvisation! Hasn't really let me down before, except for that time on the bridge and the time when I had to tunnel out of the police station basement and the time that I nearly drowned after falling off the dock and knocking myself out on an anchor chain and the...but there are always exceptions, right?

Breaking windows does seem to attract a lot of attention too. Not entirely sure why that is, but then again if you are going to go on a semi-suicidal rescue mission into the home of someone who is desperately trying to rank amongst the top ten on your enemies list, you want to make your entrance count.

Stained-glass windows depicting saints really aren't that expensive to repair and replace anyway...granted using a length of rope over a tree branch to swing through it possibly was a little bit like overkill, but it looked cool...shame no one was actually there to watch it. Just plenty of people thundering through the house moments after the sound of breaking glass to see the resulting devastation and plenty of people to then draw guns on you and chase you through the myriad of corridors as you try to locate the locked doors behind which a certain police constable is being detained.

It's really amazing how poor some people's aim is when they are running and trying to shoot you.

Whoever designed the Weldon house definitely had a fetish for doors. Eventually, after managing to only sustain two or three or fifteen bullet grazes from an awful lot of terrible shots and several dozen empty clips, I did manage to find the right doors, kicked them in and found myself face to face with Fred.

Fred, who then tells me that he is going to arrest me for breaking and entering! Can you believe it? I go to rescue him and he threatens to arrest me!

Bloody typical.

Getting back to the beautiful pile of shards my new entrance into the manor had created was seemingly a little difficult given the number of people between me and it that were armed with some rather nasty but tasty weaponry. Not that they could hit the broadside of a barn with it, but it was still not an idea that I relished. Instead I created yet another door! This time through a window that was definitely an awful lot less to repair than the stained-glass masterpiece I had reduced to ruin and rubble.

Mrs Weldon did not look pleased to see me and instead of offering me a drink and sitting down like adults to discuss our present situation, the bitch started throwing her Wedgwood porcelain figures at me and Fred in a rather aggressive way. This meant Fred accompanying me through the broken window instead of staying behind to be given a severe concussion by Japanese-esque dogs and running like hell on the other side of the glass to escape the range of the guns as well as the reach of Mrs. Weldon's arm.

Friday, 23 September 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon – Day 13

There aren't many reasons in the world to stay up past 3am. Insomnia and insane drinking binges seem to be the only reasons I have stayed out of bed for before. This is of course excluding my current activities.

My watch told me it was 03:05 and I was sat outside of Henry A. Weldon's house watching the movements of the inhabitants. The aforementioned owner of said property was missing, absent, if you will.

Mrs. Weldon was, however, as active as ever.

In a room downstairs was a very familiar figure. Yes, the illustrious and infuriating Fred Barlow was sat in full uniform in what appeared to be the living room. I wasn't all to surprised that he had seemingly succumbed to the charms of the insatiable lady of the house.

I wasn't here in an official capacity. Naturally, having escaped being looked in a wardrobe I assumed that my employment was now terminated. But I wanted answers as to what was going on. Normally I wouldn't have cared – no money = no interest for me. Locking me in a wardrobe, get me arrested for trespassing and generally trying to make me look foolish really gets my back up. I was in the mood for a little payback, not that I have a desperate thirst for revenge that needs to be slaked or anything...

Mrs Weldon was upstairs, moving around in a room with three other men. At this moment in time they were all fully clothed and seemed to be arguing about something – if I could lip read I would have known what that something was, however I had never bothered to learn, bugging people's homes, offices and other locations generally negates the need to. Fred was sat downstairs looking very bored and like he wanted to leave already. I watched him walk round the room three times, try the door (to find it locked) and then sit down with his head in hands.

Apparently not so much succumbed to the charms. However did mean that I needed to get a closer look – hopefully I can avoid incarceration this time...

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 12

Three days! Three whole days I was locked up for by that idiot for trespassing even though it was blatantly clear to any imbecile that I had been kidnapped and imprisoned.

Sometimes I think Fred just does this to annoy me.

So I decided to take matters into my own hands. Something about the Weldon fiasco just doesn't feel right and I don't like being locked up in wardrobes or prison cells for that matter.

Reasons why Henry A. Weldon would knock me out and lock me in a now broken wardrobe: -
  1. Because that kind of thing turns him on.
  2. Because he had run out of space in the dungeon below his mansion
  3. The wine cellar was full
  4. I was hired under false pretences and am now being made to look a fool and the only way to dispatch me was to lock me up.
  5. I would have shot him if he hadn't.

In all fairness to the last point, I'm going to shoot him because he did lock me up so it really is a lose-lose situation for him.

Tuesday, 3 May 2011


Standing in line at the bank wouldn't be nearly so bad if a) the general public weren't so annoying and b) if I was actually allowed to take my guns in. Guns apparently make banks nervous for some bizarre reason...

The worst thing about waiting in the bank is there is no way of avoiding idiotic policemen without losing you place in the line. Sometimes I think I should move away from cash only business practices, but then again I think sitting on a PDQ helpline for 8 hours would be more annoying – there are only so many times I can listen to hold music loops for before I blow the phone to pieces.
On second thoughts – me having guns in a bank might actually be a bad idea...

Monday, 25 April 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 8

There are not many occasions I have woken up and found myself in places I didn't recognise. Most of the time I wake up in the hospital with policemen guarding the doors as I've managed to get arrested whilst doing something highly dangerous. So it was a bit of a shock to the system to wake up and find myself in a dark, cramped space.

More surprising than the fact that this particular dark, cramped space could have easily been bigger had it led to Narnia, was that I had walked into Henry A. Weldon's on a Tuesday and woken up on a Thursday without being able to recall Wednesday.

Fortunately enough locks on wardrobes aren't really all that strong, unfortunately when you throw a human body at locked wardrobe doors there is a tendency for the wardrobe to topple over instead of breaking the lock...good job wardrobe backs are flimsy in comparison to the locks on the door.

Getting free of the wardrobe was a splinter-filled fun activity that I am not keen to repeat. What I was concerned about was why I had been locked up in a wardrobe and couldn't remember a day of my life. My head didn't feel fuzzy so I hadn't been drugged. There was a sharp pain in my side and a wonderful burn mark that did suggest that Henry A. Weldon or one of his security personnel had access to taser.

The idea of this really didn't thrill me. The room I found myself in was rather large and surprisingly Spartan for a man who had so much money to throw around. It also came to mind that I would probably be better trying to arrange a meeting outside the four walls of his mansion; hunting people down in a potential fortress filled with taser armed guards isn't all that appealing after breaking out of a wardrobe that they are bound to be somewhat annoyed about.

Running away, as cowardly and assassin like as it felt, to live to fight another day was a good idea. This was especially sensible (uncharacteristic I know) when jumping off a balcony into bushes and running along the side of the house sends you running into an extremely annoying police officer who then decides arresting you for trespassing is the right thing to do.

At this point I'm really wishing that I hadn't taken this case. No amount of money is worth running into and getting arrested by Frederick Barlow. The gloating alone is just too much to take.

Friday, 18 March 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon – Henry A. Weldon

Five Reasons Why I should kill Henry A. Weldon:
  1. He is an arrogant self-opinionated blow-hard that needs to be educated in how dangerous orphaned women with guns can be.
  2. He believes anything his wife tells him, no matter how ridiculous
  3. He thinks it's acceptable to knock me out and lock me in a cupboard for three days
  4. His moustache is the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen since it's split into two parts since he seemingly is incapable of growing one complete one.
  5. Getting money from him is harder than convincing the BNP that immigration has benefits.
Five Reasons Why I shouldn't kill Henry A. Weldon:
  1. He owes me money.
  2. He hasn't found out yet just how many men and women his wife is having affairs with, nor seen the photographs of these trysts that are now my life's main goal to obtain.
  3. He owes me money.
  4. He doesn't yet know how much pain I am going to inflict on him for locking me in a cupboard.
  5. He owes me money.

At the moment whether he lives or dies is still a very close run thing.

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 5

The fire damage is fortunately minimal to my office and apartment, the rest of the building however was not so lucky. A few of my neighbours had less than polite things to say as I picked my way up the char-grilled stairs. They were never exactly civil towards me, but this latest escapade had earned me a more malicious tirade than before.

Sadly you can't shoot people to teach them manners. I can't imagine why it's frowned upon, whenever I've done it in the past it's been very effective...though it has earned me several restraining orders and nights in jail cells. I sometimes think the breakdown in society, though very good for my business, could be altered dramatically if I was allowed to go out every now and then putting bullets into the knee caps of people that spit and litter.

However rude neighbours were the least of my worries. Someone was serious about their threats towards me, though I couldn't help but feel I had been subject to two conflicting pieces of advice – or two piece of potentially lethal advice.

If I had done as one piece of advice suggested and stayed in my flat then I would have been in the fire and probably have died from smoke inhalation. I didn't mind that someone was possibly trying to kill me. It happens with surprising frequency, though so far I have proven very resilient to death – God just doesn't seem to want me to join him yet, well either him or the Devil, maybe neither of them are interested in my soul.

What I minded was that I didn't know who was trying to kill me. If I had the attention span to sit down and go through a list of everyone who I had ever made an enemy out of who may want me dead it would be an extremely long list. My neighbours quite probably at the top of it. Such a list would not only be extremely unhelpful but also a huge waste of drinking and smoking time.

So I resolved on having an early night and if I were still alive in the morning I would go meet with Mr. Weldon, go and annoy Mrs. Weldon some more and see if anyone else tried to kill me.

It's times like this that make me glad I became a P.I. I'd be bored to death otherwise...

Friday, 11 March 2011

Shopping List

Cat Food
Printer Cartridge

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 4

So this whole day could have gone a lot better.

Firstly Mrs. Weldon did not take kindly to being blackmailed – in fact I am fairly sure she threatened me. She also told me she would make sure that I didn't get any money from her husband for the work I had been doing...

I really do not like this woman.

Secondly I ran out of whiskey and when I went out to buy more I got shot at by masked men from rooftops and then when I returned fire to defend myself, I am the one that got arrested!

Thirdly I got put into a jail cell for six hours before anyone came to take my statement and when they did – yes you've guessed it – it was Fred. He took great pleasure in keeping me in the interview room and then put me back in the jail cell for more hours and by the time I got out of the jail cell, everywhere that sold whiskey was closed.

Fourthly when I got back to my apartment and office I found fire engines outside and the building on fire.

So needless to say I got no work done today, didn't get any money and now have to wait until the fire brigade is done before I can go back into my office and apartment!

Sunday, 27 February 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 3

I have spent the last two days walking around and have come to a conclusion. I am not being followed by an assassin. If I was, I would definitely be dead by now. I am still being followed by an extremely annoying police sergeant who by his own mistakes keeps managing to find me after I lose him.

I am still none the wiser as to exactly who is following me though. There are not that many possibilities left as to who it could be given the competency of their skills. The idea that I might not even be being followed has now been dismissed as only someone in a deep state of paranoia could possibly believe that they are being followed when they are in fact...not being, well excluding Fred Barlow.

On the plus side I have arranged to meet with Mrs. Weldon to ask her how much she is willing to pay me to lie to her husband about her adulterous activities. Generally this kind of activity is quite easy to blackmail people over and to get a nice bonus to go on top of my two week salary and expenses. However considering her veracious appetite when it came to her extra-curricula hobbies, I wasn't so sure that it would be as easy as it had been in the past. Hopefully the pay out will be worth it.

I got a call from Mr. Weldon as well wanting to know how the investigation was going. I do hate it when people require updates on how I'm spending their money. I get the feeling though that if I don't give him some form of information that he will go to the police and then Fred will just have to get involved...he seems to have this need to always interfere.

I also got a weird letter and phone call. If it wasn't for needing a phone to actually get work then I would take the line out – maybe I need to get an answering machine... When I answered the phone for the eighteenth time in the day there was a gravelly voice on the other end of the line telling me that I should stay in doors for the next for days if I knew what was good for me.

It wasn't long after this that a letter was pushed under my door which told me that if I knew what was good for me then I should stop what I am doing otherwise there would be consequences. I wonder what happened to the days of being able to earn a living by semi-honest means without receiving daily warnings and death threats. I can't remember my Dad ever receiving this many in his whole career.

It's a good job I'm not easily intimidated...

Sunday, 20 February 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 2

So having had an unexpected start to what should have been a rather dull two weeks of detection I spent most of the night awake trying to decide what to do. I wasn't trying to decide what to do in regards to Mrs. Weldon, that was obvious but there was no point in going to see her for at least a week yet – no need for me to do myself out of a weeks wages. I had other detective work to do and since I couldn't pay myself for it, well Henry A. Weldon could instead.

I had two options in finding out who was following me 1) Go to a very annoy sergeant and ask for help or 2)Go out into the wider world and let the dangerous competent tailer follow me until either I found out who it was and what they wanted or they killed me. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out which option I went for...unfortunately before I could even leave my office in a race against death, a very annoying police sergeant opened the door.

Newly promoted police sergeant, Frederick Barlow, or Fred as he continually asked me to call him; has this nasty habit of appearing just when I don't want him to.
This was one of those occasions.

He spent twenty minutes asking me questions about what I was doing for Mr. Weldon, which prompted lots of questions from me about if he was bugging my phone in order to know so much about a job I was only given yesterday. This led to him mumbling something about somewhere else that he needed to be and he left me to it. Well he then decided to start following me – he isn't very competent when it comes to tailing somebody and because of that he is very easy to lose.

It was a full half an hour before I got the horrible feeling that I was being followed again – the horrible nagging suspicion that only a trained professionally can arouse in you when you second guess everything and everyone around you. Most people, I guess, never have to deal with that, but I had felt it twice before in my lifetime. Once was when a low life named Kevin Metis was following me and my family before he murdered my family. He would have murdered me too except for a very annoying police sergeant, then constable, interfering. 

The other occasion I can remember feeling like this was when I was being followed by an assassin. An extremely dangerous assassin named Ryuu Blade. A contract had been taken out on my life by a man named Derek Long which Ryuu Blade tried to fulfil and had only been thwarted when Fred had convinced Derek Long to cancel the contract.

Part of me suspected that she was back on my case but I really hoped that my suspicions were way off – the last thing I needed on such an easy case was dealing with a psychotic assassin that not even a high speed train could stop.

The other option of course was that I was being followed by some form of government agency but that would be just too far fetched...

Sunday, 13 February 2011

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 1

Reasons why being a P.I is the worst job in the world :-
      1. You only get paid at the end of a job.
      2. You only get paid at the end of a job if your client is still alive to pay you.
      3. Jealous husbands are the worst tippers
      4. Indiscreet wives have a tendency to throw hissy fits when you try and extract money from them to compensate for their husband's miserly behaviour.
      5. Police Sergeants interfere way too much when you are trying to make money on the side in only slightly illegal ways.
Life's trivialities – earning money, eating, sleeping, drinking – all seem to be much harder to do in my life than I expect they are in most peoples. In order to eat and drink I need to be earning money. In order to be earning money I need people to be ringing me with work. Of course when people ring me with work there is always the difficult task of me getting paid at the end of it.

On this occasion it wasn't that I hadn't been called and given work – I had. A man named Henry A. Weldon had called me and asked me to spy on his wife. This of course is the bread and butter of most private investigators; I, however, am not most private investigators. Despite that I am not one to turn down work.
From what I could gather from his rather blustery manner, was that he suspected his wife was cheating on him with no less than twenty four other men. I did have to stop myself from laughing down the phone at him – unlike men, most women don't need an army of lovers to keep them satisfied – in fact I'm not even sure most men do. Twenty four did seem extremely far fetched, six maybe but not twenty four.

So having a ridiculous figure in mind as to how many men I was going to be watching out for, I gleaned a rough idea of Mrs. Weldon's schedule and agreed to start watching her first thing in the morning.

Two things would have made this a very simple, and some might argue, a routine case to conduct and get paid out of it. 1) Had Mr. Weldon been right about the number of men and 2) Had one incredibly annoying Frederick Barlow – newly prompted Sergeant – not been taping my phone.

Wherever I went the next day I had the distinct impression that I was being not only watch but followed. At the hairdressers (where Mrs. Weldon stopped for an hour and a half and came out with no difference to her hair), at the spa (where she apparently had a weekly massage appointment, but when I checked the booking sheets for the last six months her name appeared only once) and at the golf club (where she wore stilettos, didn't take golf clubs or stop in the restaurant).

Something was most definitely up – and I'm not talking about the three very obvious trysts with two different men and possibly one woman (and this was just her Tuesday).

I decided to investigate whether I was being investigated having discovered pretty early on that Henry A. Weldon was correct in his assumptions about his wife, but possibly very wrong about the numbers involved – sadly underestimating just how many people it was taking to satisfy his wife. Does make me wonder if she went home every night and complained about a headache though.

So I spent the whole afternoon formulating a plan on how to check whether I was being followed and watched. Surely that couldn't have been that difficult, I hear you cry, when you have been trained by The Arthur Mace and The Danny MacDonald; arguably the greatest (or worst depending on how you look at it) P.I's of all time (that's not including the fictional ones as I would have preferred having Philip Marlowe as my father's best friend rather than Danny MacDonald). Well technically it wasn't.

What made it more complicated was that I only suspected someone was following me. Most people that engage in such an underhand and arguably nefarious activity, are normally completely incompetent and therefore easily discovered. This meant that if I was being followed, whoever was following me was adept and ergo actually dangerous.

Life is so much harder when dangerous people interfere with my work. Harmless people are so much easier to deal with, they run away from guns, especially if you can manage to plant a bullet or two in an unsuspecting undesirable who thinks it makes them tough standing in a street asking if you want to fight. Dangerous people are problematic because they seem to lack this fear that makes everyone else so malleable, so predictable and well fun to torture with gunfire.

Dangerous people have low profile careers where they can perfect their tracking skills, and no I don't mean like car mechanics. I mean like hunters, assassins (I hate assassins), politicians...well maybe not politicians but they tend to be underhand and dangerous because they fight with paper not with guns.

Guns are fun, paper definitely isn't, papercuts for example.
Dangerous people are people that enjoy causing pain and suffering to those around them, and not even for money. They interfere and try and stop hard-working, admirable members of society from carrying out their diligent duties.

Dangerous people mean I don't get paid.

Dangerous people are people like...well people like me...

On second thought dangerous people are amazing as long as they aren't following me.