Frank Fishbone P.I.

Frank's Incensed

I was boiling up my kippers-in-a-bag for supper when the phone rang. I turned down the gas and answered it. Turns out it was one of my contacts from the old days. He'd got himself into a bit of a predicament and realised that I was just the man to get him out of it. Seemingly, he'd just been contacted by a guy claiming to be one of the GIs that had found a stash of dollar bills hidden in a hole in the sand just after Saddam Hussein had been captured in Iraq. They'd spent five hours counting it all and decided to liberate a cool $25 mill before handing over the rest to the suits from Uncle Sam. This cash is now laying in another hole in the ground someplace, and it has to be shipped out to a bank soonest, before the construction gangs move in and dig it up again. Could my contact find a bank to take it?

Well, lemme tell you, you don't spend all the years I've had in this game without picking up a trick or two. OK, so the work might not be too glamorous just lately, but trust me, there's a hell of lot of pet owners out there who've more than enough cause to be grateful for the work that I've put in on their behalf.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment", I explain, "Got a particularly difficult case on, trying to track down a very crafty Siamese that's done a runner from a holiday cattery, but I'll try to fit something in."

"There's a good drink in it for you", he says. "I'm on for 30% of the total, so how about we say 10% of that as your share?"

I've been there before. I take all the risk, and the client expects all the reward.

"Like hell we will" I shout down the phone "50 - 50, or no dice."

"That's extortion" he protests.

"Them's my terms" I answer " you think about it."

So that's how it is right now. He's thinking, and I'm back with the cat hunt.

And my bloody kippers boiled dry.