Early on in their travels, SheDon’tWriteNoMore and Therapist Evil stayed for a while in a cosy little flat just off the Reeperbahn. They were making a tidy living selling sex toys to the less salubrious shops in the famous street, imported from sweatshops that ran on child labour in China. Unfortunately, these goods were sub-standard, and so many were returned to the shops that they demanded their money back from our two entrepreneurs. They had, of course, squandered it, and would never have had any intention of refunding the money anyway, knowing all along the goods were faulty. After all, that’s how they’d got such a good price for them in the first place. So they simply changed their phone number and, being as no-one knew where they lived, started up another business fencing stolen pedigree pets.
What the amoral pair didn’t realise was, one of the businesses they had been dealing with was owned by Gruff McKillem, a retired Scottish gangster who didn’t take kindly to being conned. He got in touch with a private investigator he’d used in the past, a man known only as bangbang. He charged bangbang with hunting the duo down but, as he got closer, they realised they were being investigated, quietly shut up shop, and hit the road again. Gruff was getting soft in his old age, and was content that they’d left Germany behind and wouldn’t return. But bangbang was not used to failure, and the hunt became personal…
2 comments:
It seemed like an easy gig. Track down two broads, find their hidey-hole and hand over the info to McKillem. Two hundred a day plus expenses - a nice easy gig.
The first was a tall blonde with legs that went all the way up. They would have come all the way down too but she was afraid of heights. The other was shorter and if you opened a dictionary at the world 'Sultry' her picture would be there. I found out later it should be 'Salty' cos she's totally nuts.
McKillem put me onto a street in Hamburg, Germany. An area so filthy even the rats wore wellingtons. Finding their exact address was another matter. They'd covered their tracks well. The goods they dealt in weren't my cup of tea but in that area you couldn't turn a corner without coming into contact with a tassled brasierre or an inflatable sheep. There were plenty of shopkeepers who wanted to meet up with those two again and my guess is they wouldn't have kept their looks for too long if they had. They'd have been lucky to get a date with John Merrick.
Then my luck turned. A German guy by the name of Weiner had his pedigree Great Dane and Chihuahua go missing. He was planning to mate them - I didn't ask. Now that's an unusal pairing and I tracked down a lady who told me she had saw two women walking just those animals in a street just off the Reeperbahn. She wanted 200 Euros and said she liked the ones who just wanted to talk. I wasn't sure what that meant but I didn't care - I'd hit the jackpot.
I went straight there and taking no chances bust the door quickly holding my big .45. It was empty. I could smell their cheap perfume and the fresh lipstick on the wine glasses told me I had just missed them.
Those dames are good. But I'm better.
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