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Nineteen: No Way in the World
It's amazing how time flies when you are snooping on people. My private detective agency was muddling along quite nicely, I probably wasn't going to become a millionaire but I could handle that. The cases were usually fairly ordinary but today, out of the blue, I had been commanded to get my butt to Military Headquarters, I ignored the command. I left the office mid-afternoon but before I went, I checked out the plaza below my office and noted two men in suits, they had been trying to be incognito all day. I could have confronted them but these days I find it's better to avoid danger rather than hitting it head on. I went out the back way by the fire escape. I was just about to go through the big heavy fire door when someone came at me from behind with the intention of hitting me on the back of the head with a heavy blunt object. I stepped aside, twisted round and kneed him in the leg.
'Aghh,' he said and went down. I picked him up by the collar and grabbed him around the throat.
'Who sent you?'
'I'm from military intelligence, I was sent to bring you in.'
'I don't like your invitation,' I said and relieved him of his cosh. By the use of the word cosh, I refer not to hyperbolic cosine, some sort of mathematical formula, or to chlorpromazine, an antipsychotic drug, but to a blunt type of weapon made of iron and covered in rubber with a strap attached. It's designed to cause blunt-force trauma injuries and is commonly referred to as a blackjack. My assailant's two mates arrived and went for me but I had an ace up my sleeve, or as it happened, a blackjack. They moved first but I moved second and left them both to contemplate the universe. I walked out into the daylight and there to greet me was the police Star Force unit, the plaza had been cleared and they were there kitted up for World War Three, helmets, flak jackets, boots, visors, pretty deadly looking guns, batons, even an armoured car, all in matching black. I know when I'm beat, I surrendered.
'We sent in a commando force,' said a man with gold braid, lots of pips on his epaulets and a fancy uniform.
'Not interested.'
'We believe they have chemical weapons.'
'I'm not interested.'
'It is imperative that we act now.'
'I'm still not interested.'
'I am ordering you.'
'Look mate, don't you remember, I was court martialled and dishonourably discharged.'
'Well perhaps we acted a little hastily. We've had time to reconsider and, to put it quite frankly, you are the best.'
'I was the best.'
'We have a mission for you.'
'No, no way in the world, don't even think about it.'
'We have a little mess that we need you to clean up. We sent in a small force of SAS commandoes…'
'I'm not in the army anymore, I don't want to know.'
'…an attack group of six...'
'It's not my problem.'
'…five were killed.'
'It's dangerous work and I have officially retired.'
'The commander of the raid was captured and we believe is being held hostage.'
'You're not listening to me.'
'I am ordering you to undertake this mission.'
'Stick it up your arse. Nothing will ever make me work for you guys again.'