Monday, 3 December 2012


Why is it that filling out forms is one of the most laborious and tedious tasks that administration ever created? What is it about having to answer a series of questions with confining restrictions placed upon the information that you can provide is just so tortuous to do? 

Was it created as some form of passive aggressive torture by frustrated, mild mannered secretaries? Or was it an April Fools prank that really has gone too far given that forms have persisted for several years now?

Whatever the reason for the existence of forms, from now on I am making Fred fill them all in since he is responsible for me spending a week in jail...I'd only had the locks changed on his apartment...

Friday, 19 October 2012


Autumn always seems to make so many depressed. Marking the end of the summer and the descent into the dark and cold of winter and yet Autumn is the one time of year I genuinely feel happy.

Shocked as most people are that I am capable of being happy, it happens none-the-less. Autumn isn't too hot or cold, the days are a sensible length and it rains, the trees are colourful and beautiful. The smell of burning is in the air and piles of leaves to jump in or throw at passersby. What is there to not love about the season?

Yes there is the problem of children running around damaging property when you refuse to give them sugar rushes and hiding behind Fawkesian masks so that the police can't identify them when they manage to escape arrest.

Still I have always felt that the Guy on a bonfire could always do with looking more life like...

Thursday, 20 September 2012


What is it about fish? I don't mean for eating, I mean the ones that you keep in a tank or a pond.

I walked into a doctor's surgery the other day to see half of it taken up by a gigantic tank that made it impossible to see the reception desk (a blessing considering the receptionist). Around this tank were gathered all the waiting patients who were just staring gormlessly at the brightly coloured creatures as they swam frantically between the long wavy plants and hid under plant pots.

This mystery was further deepened when I may have had to sort of break into Fred's apartment for the fifth time this month, only to find his dining room had been replaced by an aquarium. This proved very problematic for me as I got so lost in watching the stupid fish that I lost track of time, heard Fred opening his door having finished work and had to climb out of the bathroom window so he didn't catch me. I spent six hours out on the ledge beneath that window waiting for him to fall asleep so I could go home!

So what is it about them that is so mesmerizing? I just don't understand this power they seem to hold over humanity. If any form of crime boss had caught on to their hypnotic powers then global domination wouldn't be far off. In this vein I am having a bookcase in my office replaced with a fish tank to see if I can't convince some of the weaker minded souls that pass through my door to part with more of their money. If I am successful then I am pretty sure I know what happened to all the Jedi...

Friday, 7 September 2012

Hunting a Priest Killer Day 3

Why is it that though a place may seem surrounded, especially when there are a large number of cars that are parked in almost perfect cylindrical circles around it, that people never cover the back door?

Well, whatever the reason, it meant that I could slip out and avoid detection by legions of constables that seem intent on making a name for themselves by arresting me. I take it as a testament to good sense within the police that those sent to surround and watch me were not of any rank. It's nice to see that they are growing in wisdom, well save for the issuing of the arrest warrant and still employing Fred...

I was now on my way to try and discover what, if any, involvement that Sykes had with Patrick's murder. I wasn't in the greatest of moods to be running around chasing wild geese at this stage but so far neither Mitch nor Anthony had any reason to lie to me, other than the fact that they didn't like Sykes.

The idea of gang territory expansion is always a dangerous one. Either it involves taking the territory from another gang, which leads to months of violence and retaliation or in some cases years of bloodshed with people getting caught in the middle. This is not very good for business as people become too scared of going outside to need my services. The other, and slightly more terrifying prospect is that the gang would expand into territory that no gang currently holds, that is free and moderately law abiding areas of the city.

The reason this was slightly more terrifying is that the free area of the city next to the Snake Devil's territory just happens to be where I live. In taking over free areas of the city there tends to be a lot more violence from and directed towards civilians and as stupid and annoying as people are, I wasn't about to let those who lived near me suffer under that.

I decided that in order to find Sykes, having him come to me would make my life easier. This is surprisingly difficult to do as most gang bosses don't reply to RSVPs. I couldn't risk walking into his territory either as I would most likely be shot on sight, so my first course of action was to find the nearest bar and have myself a very long drink.

Isn't it wonderful when you happen to find some of the top generals of a Snake Devil gang boss playing poker in the back room of a bar that you can hold for ransom?

Tuesday, 10 July 2012


There are days when I wake up and wonder if the world hasn't gone completely technology crazy. I mean medical advancements are all very helpful, I wouldn't still be alive if it hadn't been for some of them and neither would Fred...the jury is still out on whether that is a good thing or not .

Indoor plumbing and refrigeration were excellent revolutions in the home and life without them would certainly be worse. But then you have to consider things like the internet...

Now as a tool for searching it has replaced things like fact I am pretty certain that any one under the age of fifteen would stare blankly at me for suggesting that you go to a book to find out information. This I think is a huge shame. Also autocorrect and spellcheck are destroying the English language.

None of this is all that serious when you consider child pornography and the criminal uses such as fraud and cyber theft. Granted those are much bigger problems, I do my best to shoot such lowlife pond scum whenever I can but that tends to get me thrown in prison.

The thing is, what bugs me most about technology - aside from people who own iPhones and can't talk about anything else - is the fact that we are becoming so reliant on it that if it were to suffer a massive failure due to any number of causes (see Hollywood's extensive range of disaster and action movies for scenarios) then my typewriter and I would be some of the only things that could survive under martial law or in a post-apocalyptic least then I wouldn't have to listen to any one drivelling on about irate avians.

On seconds thoughts...

Saturday, 9 June 2012


I have never understood the fuss over birthdays. To celebrate the passage of time that brings ravages to the reflexes, skin and makes you, eventually, want to be in bed for 6pm.

The appeal of presents is also lost on me as other than ammunition, gun oil and possibly a very nice butterfly knife, all of which I can buy myself, so why would I need presents?

Parties also appear to be very overrated - people you can barely tolerate all eating and drinking things you have provided for them, having pointless small talk over the latest hair styles and scandals within your social circle, with a few people who always drink too much and end up throwing up in places you don't find for weeks and then can never get rid of the smell. 

None of this holds any joy for me. My birthday always passes unmarked and this I always rejoice in. Well it is mostly unmarked as somehow Fred managed to find out when it was so I always get a card and some form of gift. I will admit that the cigarette lighter, bottles of Macallan and the rifle that is on display in my office were all excellent gifts, but the lingerie was sent straight back to him.

So when Fred sent me an invitation to his birthday party, I was more than a bit dubious about going along, but being told that Mayor Major Tyler would be in attendance I couldn't resist the opportunity to turn up and upset him within the confines of polite society.

Turning up at the party in a dress that Fred had bought for me was definitely not such a good idea as it gave him completely the wrong idea about why I was there, but on the other hand I didn't have any clothes that were suitable other than those which Fred had bought me. When he wasn't throwing me around the dance floor, he seemed to be miserable. Most of the people who were there were self-important and made snide remarks about his choice of venue and the wine being served...they may have ended up with the claret down their fronts, nothing at all to do with me tripping the waiter...

Before the end of the evening I genuinely felt sorry for Fred, that these were the people he had to spend time with day in and out. Now I may find Fred the most annoying person on the planet but he is one of the few genuine and decent people out there and the fact that he has to put up with these people made me want to do something about it...

Now after I had significantly wound the Mayor up enough with threats of leveling city blocks if he didn't offer any assistance in my investigation into Patrick's murder with a slight relaxation on how much of the law applies to me, I decided to have a little fun with some of Fred's more narcissistic guests.

Now sadly, I hadn't been able to bring any of my guns with me to the party, mostly due to the fact that this dress was so tight fitting I am still not sure how I got my body into it, let alone anything else. So in light of this I had to be slightly more creative in finding ways to humble the high and mighty.

After the claret incident, there were a few less people to be concerned over, mainly as a slight smattering of red droplets seems to be enough to make people head home nowadays, shame it wasn't blood really... There was a temptation to flirt outrageously with some of the less subtle men who though clearly with women at the party, refused to keep their eyes from my cleavage. It was mostly put out of my mind because I really wasn't in the mood for dealing with drooling morons or having to put up with Fred moaning about it later.

I did have some fun pick-pocketing several people and swapping their wallets with people on the other side of the party. Pointing out, in a very loud voice to Fred, the people that were wearing fake designer clothes and watches and exactly which women were wearing zirconias instead of diamonds. Ah the joy of cold stares and scandal and being right all at the same time.

As much fun as all the chaos was, and believe me it really was, it didn't seem to make Fred all that happier, yes it was entertaining for him and he did seem to enjoy it, but behind it all was a very sad look in his eyes. So I decided to do something I will never, I repeat, never be doing again.

I took him out to dinner.

And yes when he kissed my hand as he dropped me home, I didn't find him all that annoying.

Wednesday, 30 May 2012


A civilized sport, a day out for many across nations where picnics can be consumed whilst enjoying the sound of balls being batted about and wickets being taken.

Well at least it was!

What was a wholesome pinnacle of sport for the class system has been debased by those who are frankly no better than football hooligans. Yobos lie half naked gulping down pint after pint of overpriced larger and spraying half eaten burger remains over those unsuspected few sat around them. Air horns blare out from stands that Jerusalem once issued forth from. 

Blue hazes hang over stands from the language used and every Tom, Dick and Harry tries to claim membership in the Barmy Army when they come to but one game dressed as some form of supposed children's entertainment and don't know the difference between a wicket and a boundary.

This I know to be true from more than mere conjecture as the irritating Fred Barlow made me accompany him to a match. Now several things annoyed me about the whole occasion 1) My guns were confiscated until the end of the match and at least five people within spitting difference needed a bullet to dissuade them from idiotic activities. 2) Skin tight leather is not comfortable to sit in in 30 degree heat with no shade and no breeze. 3) Not once during the day did Fred buy me an ice cream.

I had always seen cricket as something akin to Wimbledon in the untouchable stakes.  An unshakable pillar, a cornerstone of true culture that would stand the test of time. Sadly it seems that when taking centre court there will be less Pimms, strawberries and cream and more Carling and pork scratchings this year given the fall of cricket.

Friday, 25 May 2012

Hunting a Priest Killer Day 2

So a warrant for my arrest was issued today. It isn't the first time this has happened and it won't be the last...but the reason for such a warrant is completely ridiculous. It's not like I did anything particularly dangerous...for once...and it's not like the general public were being put in unnecessary danger...for once... The reason for the demands for my incarceration came after I locked Frederick Barlow in a cleaner's cupboard.

Fred is claiming obstruction of justice just because I stopped him from arresting someone he thinks is guilty of murder because I needed to talk to them. In all fairness to Fred, the guy in question is probably guilty of several hundred murders. I still think the warrant was an overreaction.

I went to speak with Mitch, an informant in the gang underworld from the Hornet's Nest gang, who told me where to find Anthony. Now the reason I was seeking Anthony was that if anyone had authorised a hit on Patrick, he would know about it. That would then narrow down my search field. If a hit hadn't been organised then I was looking more at a personal vendetta or a points scoring exercise. Either way I was hoping the hit had been called for.

Anthony proved a difficult man to find. I looked in every darkened doorway, every dumpster, every seedy pool hall, bar and public house and couldn't find him anywhere. I decided to go and sit in one of the parks for a while as traipsing around the more...glamorous sights of the city had left me in need of fresh air and a shower. I sat down on a bench and low and behold opposite me was Anthony feeding the ducks...criminal indulgence really does take on all forms...

After a few minutes of harmless small talk in the park he asked to move to a more secluded location to talk about Patrick, this is when Fred had gotten involved. He walked casually over, sat down next to us and in a low voice told Anthony he was under arrest. Now this made me annoyed for three reasons. 1) It's rude to interrupt people when they are talking, 2) Arresting Anthony took away the only shred of a lead that I had and 3) Anthony ran, making Fred chase him and in turn making ME run...RUN!

Fred managed to get himself caught in the revolving door which gave me a chance to catch up to him, yell at him and throw him in the cleaner's cupboard near to the revolving door. So obviously this means that I should be arrested...fortunately I did get Anthony to tell me that Sykes, leader of the Snake Devils had just risen in power after completing a hit that meant he could start expanding their territory. This was a promising start...well as long as I could avoid Fred and not get arrested...considering the number of squad cars parked around my building right now, that doesn't seem like something I can avoid for too long.

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Dangerous Minds

There was a time when it was easy to tell criminals from the rest of the cattle throng. The shifty eyes, the scarred face, the tommy guns tucked under the arm - ah what days of salad and glory were these.

Again the modern world has taken away the ability to spot the criminal mastermind with the insurgence of teenage cybergeeks into, hitherto, the province of men. Anyone on a skateboard raises suspicion now, especially when they are found circling cash points. If you are within any doubt of who these creatures are, they can be easily recognized by the inability to dress. Jeans are worn halfway down the leg so that the majority if not all of their underwear is visible.

The vulturic tendency of the beltless generation aside, most of them do not have the skills nor lack the intelligence that criminal enterprise demands. This may seem to be a contradiction in terms but there are many people I have come across who think themselves highly intelligent but have no form of skill in any field other than mindless conversation - Mayor Major Tyler is an excellent example of this.

In all honesty I miss the days of the street thug and his master lurking in shadows waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting hero. Granted this does still happen, Kevin Metis and Derek Long are cases in point, but both are now currently rotting in prison cells and this does make life fairly dull in places.

Yes there is the constant annoyance of Fred Barlow to contend with on a daily basis but dodging him has become more of a tedium than an activity. What would be a refreshing change would be a criminal mastermind with both skill and intelligence, like Professor Moriarty but sadly I am no Sherlock Holmes. So someone on my own level to match wits and gunfire against would make my day for all of three seconds.

This doesn't seem to be very likely though so I shall have to be content with beating and shooting young men and women who live like cave-trolls and have no upper body strength but do manage to amass much of what is left of the rest of the world's disposable income...or rather convert it into technology and a collection of mint condition comic books and action figures.

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Hunting the Priest Killer - Day 1

With the capture of Henry A. Weldon out of the way and no new, interesting work heading my way and by interesting I mean well paying, I now have the time to hunt down the scumbag responsible for killing Patrick.

My first idea was to see what the police knew about the whole affair. There are two ways of learning about what the police know: 1) You take the officer in charge out for dinner or drinks, get him drunk and ask him or 2) You break into the police station and look at the case files. Since the officer in charge of the investigation was Harry Lee, it wasn't a good idea to get him drunk. Mainly because last time we had been in a bar together, Fred may have ended up throwing Harry through the window. We're all keen not to have a repeat of that incident.

Breaking into the police station isn't all that hard if you happen to have the keys of one nameless sergeant, who has always been very careless about where he leaves things lying around.    Not that I got the idea for this from watching Bill & Ted... Still if Fred finds out I have them he, at least, won't send me to military school in Alaska.

There are also perfect times for breaking into case files, namely lunchtime. For some reason the filing room is completely unmanned between the hours of 12 and 1 so it didn't take much to slip in and look over the notes.

All evidence suggested that the killing was gang related. No leads had been found as to which gang was responsible or what the provocation was. It's always so much fun to get so much information. 

Interestingly it was still useful in some small part. No gangs are known to operate in this particular part of town, especially not within spitting distance of my office and flat. There are also only three gangs that could operate in the area as it means they don't have to cross into anybody else's territory to get there. This did help a lot, so I just had to narrow it down to one gang and then maybe two or three morons who had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Time to go talk and see what my friend Mitch has to say.

Friday, 4 May 2012

May the Fourth Be With You

Other than Halloween, today is the only day that I expect to turn around a corner and run straight into Darth Vader. 

Granted the first time this happened, about two years ago now, I was not only surprised to walk straight into Darth Vader but surprised to discover that inside the confines of the costume was a then police constable. Yes, you've guessed it, Fred Barlow is a Star Wars geek.

I wasn't sure which of the two was a more difficult concept to process - that I hadn't just happened across David Prowse or James Earl Jones or that Fred Barlow was spending his day off dressing up as Darth Vader and rushing to some secret event.

Naturally I had no choice but to follow him. There are, after all, few times in life when there is honestly nothing that could be more amusing than what you are about to witness.

I was hoping for some form of children's birthday party where he had been hired as the entertainment and would have to dance to Michael Jackson's Beat it, accompanied by Stormtroopers. Sadly though it was a private party in a bar, for which I was denied entry due to my lack of costume. Not even waving my impressive arsenal in their faces could move them to allow me in.

This called for drastic action. It took me half an hour to locate and change into a more suitable outfit. Thankfully I did not have to dress as Princess Leia as I really did not want to feature as the centre piece in any fantasy those around me may have been prone to. Instead Boba Fett provided me a way past the Wookie and Gamorrean that guarded the entrance. On the whole it would have been a fairly normal costume party except for the life-sized game of Dejarik being played in the corner. 

What caught my eye the most was the force lightning competition, which Fred seemed to have entered into. Round by round the contestants were whittled down until only five remained. The remaining five then had to recreate the lightsaber duel with Luke Skywalker (the rotund bar owner in this case) from The Empire Strikes Back. The whole thing would have lost its appeal had it not been for Fred making it through to the the lightsaber duel. It is surprisingly difficult to suppress laughter dressed as a bounty hunter, especially when Fred was declared the winner and asked to remove his mask.

Strangely enough the whole thing was supposed to be a secret, so when the photos turned up plastered all over the offices and cells of the police station it was probably a touch embarrassing. Still have no idea how it happened...or where I put the negatives...

Sunday, 29 April 2012

April Showers

There is something wonderful about April. A month of rain and wind that causes misery to more than half the populous. Of course the gardeners rejoice at their plants and shrubberies being watered by the skies and the farmers dance joyously as there crops and fields get doused with torrential downpours. But the average person moans and wails about the weather. The same people that moan about the rain also moan about it being too cold in winter and too hot in summer.

These people are - in short - annoying.

They can find almost anything to complain about, it gets dark too early, its too light outside, its too far to walk to get the paper, it hurts when I get shot. Okay well maybe the last is something most people would complain about.

But for me April is a wonderful time of year. The streets are practically empty as the generally public choose to stay out of the rain as much as possible. It makes walking from A to B an easy endeavour and not only that but there is such a joy to be had walking in the rain. To be buffeted by the wind and have my face splashed by the rain is one of the very few pleasures in life that I do take time to enjoy.

Sadly there is one other individual who also enjoys such activities and also may have started a  puddle water fight when he found me yesterday. Yes I speak of course of the most annoying man to ever grace the planet, Sergeant Frederick J Barlow.

Having taken time off after the arrest and incarceration of Henry A. Weldon, Fred finds that he has all sorts of time to make himself annoying on a whole new level. It has also meant that my enquiries into the death of Patrick have had to be some what covert until Fred returns to duty. 

As he was a friend of Fred's, he would obviously want to help with finding the man that killed him. However the order from the top brass was that the crime had been classified as an accidental death and was not to be investigated further. Fred would gladly disobey such a directive, but I wasn't about to let him risk his career when I was perfectly capable of seeking out his killer on my own.

So for another three days I have to endure the company of Fred and put off finding myself a murderer who I haven't quite decided what I am going to do with yet. If it is raining I am sure Fred will find me for further aquatic games, which in truth have been sort of fun so far...just as long as nobody tells him that it's okay.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

The 80s

It was a commonly held view between men and women of sensible and logical character that there are very few good things to come out of the 80s and that fashion is not one of them.

In fairness to the decade, some brilliant films and music were made during it but why oh why oh why oh why oh why oh why would anyone want to bring back backcombing and shoulder pads?

My sense of style hasn't changed much since I was fourteen - black biker leathers and black leather custom crafted body armour tend to be as timeless as blue jeans and white t-shirts and have the same effect on the opposite sex. This means that I don't have to keep up with all the ridiculous trends that seem to seize the imagination of the general population.

I was walking down the street today when I happened to wander into some of the clothes shops on the high street and after about half an hour really began to question whether or not I had been knocked out, stuffed into a DeLorean and then dumped back in 1986.

The only thing that convinced me that I hadn't been was the prat who walked straight into me, cursed me with more expletives that the average member of the population actually knows and then went back to playing with whatever app is currently the centre of his life on his iphone.

Was such a pity his phone exploded two seconds later and the sound of the gun shot did send most of the public out and about into a general panic. 

As much as the guy was asking for it, whoever decided that bringing the style of the 80s back needs to be shot more.

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 23

The last two days, I should have been trying to capture Henry A. Weldon, but my mind has been otherwise occupied by thoughts of Patrick.

Patrick, a man who I did not know well, a man who by all accounts should have meant nothing to me, but a man who had shown me compassion without reservation or condition. He had been murdered and wanting to pay a debt of retribution to his killer had kept my mind in a state where not even the promised money for acquiring Henry A. Weldon was enough to make me concentrate.

I had spent hours wandering the streets of the city looking for any evidence as to the whereabouts of anyone who would know who would kill a man of God on a street corner on Good Friday, but no one was ready to talk. Not without some form of incentive.

Henry A. Weldon still remained comfortable in his ridiculous residence as far as the men in suits and the police were concerned. In truth he was not. He had decided, given recent events, that he would be safer if he were not at home. Considering how much I wanted to kill him, this was a fairly sensible idea.

Unfortunately his whereabouts seemed to be common knowledge and much easier to learn than the identity of a priest-killer. A pool hall on the outskirts of the city was rumoured to have a backroom where poker games were held during times of crisis for the crime bosses. This made it a more than likely location for one man running away from one P.I. to go into hiding.

People always make the mistake in thinking that no one will talk. There are of course a variety of ways to make a man talk. Some are in it for the money, some adverse to pain and others well, those are best not mentioned. So finding out where people are and who is responsible is only a matter of time. So my patience was wearing thin, but even if I couldn't get to Patrick's killer right now, I could take out Henry A. Weldon.

Normally doing any form of gunplay requires some amount of concentration, but I always think that anger is a great substitute for concentration. Kicking in a back door doesn't take much effort. Shooting two well built, broad shouldered bodyguards doesn't require a marksman and kicking an over inflated with self-importance man in the back, binding him with cable ties and throw him without ceremony at the feet of men in suits.

Shame that all that was in the pool hall was a load of dusty tables...

Sunday, 15 April 2012

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 21

21 days into a 14 day job is never a place a P.I. likes to find themselves, especially if a good chunk of that time was spent in prison. On the plus side I am finally out of that God-forsaken cell. 

This is partly due to one Sergeant Frederick J Barlow who seemed to have spent the last 5 days on his hands and knees begging for me to be released. This could in part be due to the amount of insults that get hurled at him every time he is forced to walk past my cell and partly due to guilt that he is ultimately responsible for my current position. 

Any time I get arrested, it's always Fred's fault. I shoot a man in the shoulder for giving me a hard time and get arrested, somewhere along the line I can blame Fred for it.

So now being free was great but I was owed a significant amount of money by one Henry A. Weldon. The men in suits that had me arrested (even though it is still Fred's fault) it turns out have been working with Mrs. Weldon trying to get evidence against Henry A. Weldon on drug smuggling. No wonder the woman seemed to be sleeping around.

The reason I had been hired was to follow her and find out who her contacts were and hand them over to Henry A. Weldon...if there is one thing guaranteed to make me more angry than being held in prison on false charges or real charges, it's the criminal underworld thinking that they can use me to do their dirty work when they are paying me rates for doing something completely different!

I may have brokered a deal with the men in suits to cover the costs that Henry A. Weldon incurred in exchange for all the information I had and me managing to nail the creep to his own expensively plastered wall. 

My five reasons for not killing Henry A. Weldon just got a lot shorter and my five reasons for killing him just got an awful lot longer.

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Easter & Patrick

Why is it that chocolate seems to have found it's way into every form of main stream societies celebrations? The shelves of shops seemed to be packed to overflowing with the stuff months before big calendar events and people wonder why there is an obesity problem...

I have no big problem with people celebrating religious events, I would rather not go around upsetting God in his heavens when there are enough people on earth whose wrath seems to be aimed my way. I'd rather not invoke any higher power's displeasure as well. What I do have a problem with is the way that people seem to think that a religious festival is an excuse for a holiday and to celebrate and try to make me join in...

I'm not religious, my faith is in my guns and my own intelligence. I was raised that way, no one has ever spoken to me about God to try and convince me otherwise, most have just assumed that I am a terrible sinner beyond saving I think. The closest any one has come is the pastor/priest/vicar whichever it is that Fred goes to see for spiritual guidance, a man named Patrick.

The man didn't preach at me, he talked to me, like a human being...the only other person who has ever done that really is Fred, well in my adult life at least. He asked me what I believed and why so I told him, didn't tell me I was wrong, didn't tell me to change my ways or how I needed to change my life before I ended up in hell (my father always said that's what church goers did). He simply said that he would pray for me.

I'm not sure what pull that would have with the Almighty but it felt nice to know that there might be someone looking out for, for no other reason than they wanted to. I found out two days ago that the guy was shot just round the corner from my office. Turns out he was coming to see me about something and didn't want to risk phoning. Fred had offered to come with him, but he'd said it couldn't wait. 

Whatever it was, somebody shut him up. That somebody obviously didn't know that they were going to kill the only person I have ever met that shows the world to not be a dark and dismal cesspool of evil. To take them from the world, from me has definitely got my attention. 

When I find them they are going to be praying for mercy, which is ironic really, since it's their fault that all of my mercy died when they killed Patrick.

Tuesday, 27 March 2012


I don’t know what it is about the general populous that means walking into a bookshop dressed in leather – black, covered by a long coat – black, inspires distasteful glances and even tuts. It’s almost enough to hurt a woman’s feelings.


Of course the tuts of disgust are soon replaced by mildly discontented gasps and stifled screams at the sight of my revolvers sat in their holsters.

People really need to make up their minds, either fear, loathing or disgust. To keep changing between them is just unfair. For some reason the only person that currently seems to have his mind made up about me is one Frederick Barlow and his opinion of me is just plain wrong.

I discovered his current mind set quite by accident. Two days ago, a rather large vase of flowers may have found itself making an unexpected journey out of the window onto the bonnet of a certain person's car...yes the vase and flowers were from the same person...and yes they were handed to me with a proposition of dinner and dancing.

Granted if I was a normal human being, I would have melted and fallen into his arms as he apparently expected me to. Strangely enough this didn't happen. Instead he decided to tell me what a wonderful person I was...when you end up being described as a gentle, kind, compassionate person and there is still dried blood in your hair from where you shot someone not an hour earlier, you begin to wonder about the sanity levels of the person in front of you.

There are times when there are small amounts of hope for the human race...on days like today...Fred Barlow is the greatest hope for really they're all doomed.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

How Not To Escape A Prison Cell

After the last few days I have learnt several hard lessons: -

1) Trying to steal the key does not work as there is no keyhole on the inside of prison cell doors.
2) Equally, lockpicking is redundant for the afore mentioned reasons.
3) Trying to escape from prison cells leads to missing more meals.
4) Fred Barlow isn’t the bad guy I would like to make him out to be.
5) Men in suits aren’t necessarily the enemy…it doesn’t make them any less annoying but in the case not who I should be fighting against.
6) Mrs. Weldon was not the harlot that surveillance made her out to be…

None of this would have been discovered if there had not been several attempts made to escape captivity. I have never done well inside stone walls, especially if those stone walls have iron bars on them. So after all the time I have spent locked up here, I thought it was high time that I was out on the street again trying to avenge myself on Mrs. Weldon, Henry A. Weldon and men in suits. There are many different ways in which escape from prison cells can be made. There are the classic stealing keys, sawing through bars and dressing up as washer women, granted that none of these are particularly effective in modern cells, but nether-the-less a good way to alleviate boredom.

It was during a sojourn from my cell that I happened upon Fred Barlow arguing with the men in suits. Arguing with men in suits I can understand and indeed have indulged myself. However this was most interesting to happen across as Fred was actually arguing in my favour, seemingly trying to get me released.

There are not many occasions when this police sergeant isn’t the most annoying being in all creation, but seemingly today was a day when he was forgoing his usual nature. The men in suits also seemed to be bucking their trend in being the cause of most of my trouble and more surprisingly, Mrs. Weldon was there…

They seemed to be arguing the same point in different ways for what seemed like hours but was more like fifteen minutes. Eventually they resolved their disagreement with a decision to bring me forth from my rotting cell to explain the situation I was caught up in.

It was at this moment that I felt it prudent to reveal my presence…for some reason I ended up pinned to the floor with three guns to my head…

Why is it nobody ever just welcomes me with a hug?

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

The Case of Mrs. Weldon - Day 19

Fred has been to see me every day. Every day! There is definitely something he is not telling me about what is going on. To begin with I did consider the possibility that he was being sent down to try and worm information out of me, but every day he turns up with food (as I am still not being fed).

It occurred to me that Henry A. Weldon probably has a lot of influence with Mayor Major Tyler, but not even the Mayor has the power to keep me locked up for so long without any formal charges. So my thoughts have turned to higher powers than the local police force. Men in suits.

Men in suits had me arrested. Men in suits were keeping me in prison. Men in suits. I hate men in suits. Though it is true that every girl's crazy bout a sharp dressed man, men in suits don't count. Because behind men in suits is always someone out for money, power or something far more dastardly. In this case I had no doubt that the person behind the men in suits was Mrs. Weldon. What I didn't know yet is why on earth she would need men in suits and what exactly she is up to.

It is fairly obvious by this point that Mrs. Weldon was not just a woman having lots of illicit affairs and that Henry A. Weldon had landed me right in the middle of something I didn't want to be in the middle of.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

PI Day...

Who on earth is it that keeps dreaming up all these days to dedicate to different groups of people? Seriously I can understand mother's day and father's day in some small manner of speaking. Ungrateful brats that demand toys and sweets all the time when they are awake and when they reach the age of 6 require a constant free taxi service should have to spend a day helping their poor parents out so the aforementioned adults don't have to kill them and bury them in the garden. This is perfectly reasonable.

The whole thing seems to be going slightly too far though when there is a day dedicated to hamsters, talking like a pirate and numbers with far too many decimal places. Not only that, but it is rather misleading for private investigators who think at last they are getting some recognition on 14th March for all that they do to improve the lives of the cattle that pace the streets below their office windows and generally are ignorant of most of the outside world, only to find that this day is not a day dedicated to the hard working, under appreciated private eye, but to 3.141592.

A mathematical constant receives more adulation than both myself and the Greek letter put together! Worst of all is when police sergeants use this tiny misunderstanding as an excuse to ridicule the sensible assumption. Hammering the point home by posting 3.14 cards reading "Happy Pi Day, here's to a number that's as irrational as you" was just cruel.

As I cannot hurt a number, I will just have to take out my frustration on hunting a certain man with a paint gun whilst he is driving his newest sports car...I wonder how long it would take to etch a legible π onto a bonnet from 12ft away...

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Valentine's Day

Why is it that the day that is supposed to be the mushiest, gushiest, most annoying day of the year is actually my best business day throughout the whole year?

It's enough to make someone cynical...if I wasn't cynical already...Valentine's Day gives me two solid weeks of work either side of the day that means I can't do anything other than plough through each case! It's amazing how long the human body can function without sleep as long as there is takeaway food and alcohol available.

This year for example I had eight women asking me to find the men that were stalking them and then hand them over to the police, was rather unfortunate for Constable Evans really; seven men who wanted me to follow their wives to find out if they were having affairs, six women asking me to follow their husbands, five men asking me to follow their wives so they could have affairs without being caught, four teenagers wanting me to find them dates for Valentine's Day, three women asking me out for Valentine's Day, two men asking me out for Valentine's Day and final one really annoying policeman breaking up with yet another bimbo and wanting to spend the day with me.

Avoiding the last six makes getting my actual work done very difficult. 

Thursday, 5 January 2012

My 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, a headache the size of Italy.

On the second day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the third day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the fourth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the fifth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the sixth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the seventh day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the eighth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, eight hours broken sleep, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the ninth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, nine consecutive phone calls, eight hours broken sleep, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the tenth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, ten packs of cigarettes, nine consecutive phone calls, eight hours broken sleep, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, an eleven mile car chase, ten packs of cigarettes, nine consecutive phone calls, eight hours broken sleep, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Fred Barlow gave to me, twelve sincere apologies, an eleven mile car chase, ten packs of cigarettes, nine consecutive phone calls, eight hours broken sleep, seven arresting officers, six new cell mates, five interrogation hours, four shouting matches, three tasteless meals, two nights in jail and a headache the size of Italy.

And people wonder why I hate Christmas...