Continental

Continental: A Job for a Blonde

I am an operative for the Continental Detective Agency, the best equipped agency in the world. When the US Army is short of anything, they borrow it from us. I used to be a big city cop until I shot a serial killer who had killed seven people. He happened to be of a race from whom the mayor needed votes. They knew that a jury would pin a medal on me. So they had the civilian review board fire me for using excessive force. You maybe can fight city hall, but you have to spend your life in court. So I took my accrued pension, and moved to a small town. Three months later when my funds were getting desperately low and I was looking seriously at Uber for work, the Continental Agency called me in for an interview. That was interesting because I never applied to them. We don't take applications they said; we research the people we want, and hire them when nobody will notice. I started working for the old man on the next Monday. I and no one else in the office knows his name. We just call him, Manny. I'm sure you have noticed that secrecy is a big thing for the agency.

When I came into the office on a Monday, two years into my job, I had just wrapped up a case. I had put away my passport from my job in Nicaragua. It involved a helicopter and included three tanks. The government needed it done, and the army wanted no part of it.

A blonde was sitting on my desk. If you remember a forgettable Sharon Stone movie, you will know how I knew that she dressed so hurriedly that she forgot her panties.

"Someone is going to kill my husband. His business is on the edges of the law, and he crossed some guys whose business is over the edge."

"We have a terrific bodyguard department. It is not my kind of work, but I will refer you."

"I don't want a bodyguard. I want you to make sure that nobody interferes with the mission."

The Continental Detective Agency does not turn down any legal jobs, or any on the edge of legality. Actually illegal ones are considered on a case by case basis. This was clearly an edge job.

"Give me as many details as you can."

"My husband was laundering money for some Teflon guy in New York. In addition to his fee, he claimed a hundred thousand dollars extra in expenses that he never had. They would kill him for a tenth of that."

"Why do you want your husband killed?"

"I do not, but even more I don't want to spend the rest of my life worrying about being collateral damage. I will be out of town on business for the next month, and I would like this to be over by then. I will be glad to pay your company's fee, and give you a personal tip for your services. You have already seen the goods."

"Why do you have to hire anybody? Why do you think Teflon's man will have interference?"

"He killed a friend of a Don in this city. The guy needed killing, but his friend won't admit it. He wants vengeance. The Don has the wrong dates for Teflon man's job. If you insure he does it next Tuesday or Wednesday, there will be no problem."

"Tell me about your husband's money laundering business."

The agency called Teflon in New York, and explained why he needed our assistance. He acknowledged that we were the real organized syndicate, and was actually glad to pay our exorbitant fee. Of course our agency can always find money that needs to be made legal. We contacted the husband, and made arrangements for a clandestine meeting on Tuesday. We insisted on getting our middleman's fee in advance from the husband. The Continental Detective Agency has many safe houses. This one was surprisingly was in the city center. There her husband actually met with Teflon's man. Only one left the house. We, of course, added an additional charge to Teflon's bill for disposal.

The tip that was promised me was even more enjoyable than anticipated. In fact it has been continuing for about a year, while the blonde filed for divorce for abandonment. The agency by the end of this caper had three fees. I got a twenty percent raise, and a continuing tip. Who wants to be a big city cop?