Hunting the Priest Killer - Day 9

Trying to find a co-operative gang peon is like trying to find a vegetarian in a steak house. Harry and I spent nearly seven hours trying to find out what had happened to Fred when he passed into gang territory without finding a single canary to sing for us.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that after seven hours both Harry and I were tired and a tiny bit grumpy…and when I say a tiny bit grumpy, I mean I may have shot out the tyres of a car because it drove through a puddle and splashed me.

We had attracted far too much attention without gaining any information. I would say that things were getting dangerous, but then again we were going after a gang leader with brute force – was never going to be a day playing in a strawberry patch.

What made it more dangerous was the rain. When it rains, it pours and people don’t take to the streets – not unless those people are looking for someone or something. So Harry and I needed to get out of the rain and whilst we waited for it to pass we could think of a way to find out where Fred was.

There were several abandoned properties of both home and warehouse; we decided home was less likely to be occupied by illegal business.

We were wrong.

Harry and I forced the backdoor of the first empty house we saw and walked straight into an interrogation. Fred was tied to a chair in the middle of the kitchen looking as if Mike Tyson, Frank Bruno and Mohammad Ali had all taken it in turns to practise on him.

On the plus side we had managed to find Fred by blind luck. On the downside we were now face-to-face with gang members that actually had more of an ideal of who we were and what they were doing with the guns they were aiming at our foreheads…at close range.

Bluffing seemed like the only way that any of us would make it out of the room alive, but neither Harry nor I had ever been any good at bluffing. So we surrendered, threw down our guns and got knocked out for it.

The next thing I remember is seeing Sykes’ ugly face peering at mine. A piece of advice – even if someone is tied to a chair and has been unconscious for an undisclosed length of time, don’t put your face too close to their’s or you are liable to find yourself suffering from a Glaswegian kiss.

Sykes learnt that the hard way.

Lots of threats and swearing followed, but ultimately the bleeding where I broke his nose stopped and he calmed down long enough to admit that it had been him that had killed Patrick.

I’m not sure how I thought I’d feel when he admitted to that, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. I think I would have felt vindicated, right, and then be able to shoot him between the eyes. This clearly didn’t happen. If anything I felt angrier than any of the times that Harry and Fred have been kidnapped or hurt.

I don’t really remember what happened next, but Harry swears from where he was sitting I did a complete Bruce Banner.

But then again, Harry is prone to exaggerate.

In sickness and in health

It has finally happened...

I have finally been brought to heel...

I have become sick.

I have never been sick a day in my life before. Yes I have been to hospital countless times but that has been because of bullet wounds, broken bones, head trauma, being run over, thrown through windows, well a lot of different reasons really, but I have never been sick.

I woke up this morning with a fever that was high enough to stop ice forming on the inside of my windows. I tried to get up but found myself so dizzy that I fell straight back into my bed. The last time my head felt this bad was when Bob Davies took a baseball bat to it to stop me shooting his brother. I am coughing and can barely speak and I think I must be hallucinating.

I opened my eyes and Fred was sitting on my bed next to me, a wet flannel pressed to my head to cool my temperature. I could smell chicken soup being cooked and I wasn't in my apartment any more but in his. I had the duvet pulled up around me and I was wearing some very soft, warm and comfortable pyjamas. Fred was speaking very softly, too softly to be really audible, so I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

When I woke up the second time I discovered I was not hallucinating. That in my weak and stricken state, Fred had effectively kidnapped me. Yes, the cities greatest private investigator was kidnapped from her bed by a Star Wars geek of a policeman. I wasn't sure what bothered me most about being kidnapped. It could have been that Fred had broken into my home and taken me from my bed without me waking. It could have been that I was now surrounded by luxury that I didn't have at home and realised that actually some of it was quite nice, the pyjamas for instance. Or it could have been that my guns were nowhere near me for the first time outside of a hospital. Whilst all of these were mildly irritating to semi frustrating, it was something else that bothered me.

It was the fact that whilst Florence Nightingale had brought me to the other side of the city to look after me whilst I was sick without my consent, he was right in doing so and I knew it! This revelation completely undermines my friendship or rivalry with Fred. He is not allowed to be right!  Not ever! Not because if he is right, I am wrong, but because when he is right he is so insupportably insufferable. He will use being nice to me as a way to stop me ridiculing him, or even worse stop me shooting other people. It's either that or I have to be equally nice to him to even the score and that might just make me vomit.

He had even called for a doctor to come who said that I would be in bed for a week, if I was lucky; had to take some foul tasting medicine and needed to sleep as much as possible. If I wasn't so tired, I would have argued with him about it. Fred showed him out and came back to feed me soup. He told me that I was staying here until I was well again and that he would look after me.

Can't believe it, it's going to be a year before I can shoot anyone again now! It did give me chance to talk to Fred about Patrick though. And though I would never tell him, it was nice to have someone looking after me.

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?

Birthdays

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.