Tuesday

I was never much good at physics.

But, I do know enough to know that when an object (me) is thrown up in the air, eventually, gravity is going to bring that object down again. This, generally is not good for the object.

"Are you really the best PASTMASTER has to over? Pathetic."

I gasped for air, desperately searching for an escape route. Or my firearm. I dropped it somewhere, and if I lose it there's a mountain of paperwork to complete.

"I thought you would be a challenge. So many legends and rumours about you. But in the, your nothing more than a stupid Englishman who's luck has just run out."

I spat out a mouthful of blood, staggered to my feet and beckoned to him with two fingers.

He raised his hand.

It had my firearm in it.

He pulled the trigger. Twice.

Both bullets hit their target.

I fell like a stone.



He approached my body, preparing to put one in my head just to finish me off. Git.

I didn't move.

Not because I was dead, I assure you. My nanite-tech body armour can handle a few bullets from a firearm without breaking a sweat. But since it only covers my torso, (being cunningly disguised as a rather nice coat) it wasn't going to do me a whole lot of good against a headshot.

That's why I was playing dead. I wanted him to think he was just making sure, rather than killing me.

He fell for it.

Standing over me he aimed my gun at my forehead, smiled and began to aim.

I raised my leg. And hit him exactly where no man likes to be hit. He collapsed on top of me, I kneed him again and for good measure I headbutted him in the face, breaking his nose.

He dropped to his knees, stunned for a few seconds. I pressed home my advantage by hitting him twice in the solar plexus driving the wind out of him.

He was stunned momentarily, so I rolled him off, grabbed the standard police pair of handcuffs from my coat pocket and handcuffed him. Then, because I felt mean, I stamped on his chest.

As much as I would like to fight with chivalry and honour, I would also like to see the sun rise tomorrow. And I find that these tend to cancel out each other. Sad times.

He was neutralised, so I picked up my mobile and dialled my colleague who was currently sitting in the car having been assured (by me) that he wasn't needed, this guy would come quietly. And he certainly wouldn't almost kill me.

"You ready to earn your pay?"

"He almost killed you, didn't he?"

"Just get up here."

I looked around what had been quite a stylish, neat flat, and called the office.

"Bureau"

"Got him. Going to need a clean up crew to his flat, and a cup of tea when we get home please."

"He almost killed you didn't he?"

I hung up.

By the time my colleague had arrived I had picked up the brass that had been ejected by my gun, the guy was ready for interrogation and I was looking slightly less like I'd been thrown around a modern stylish flat by a 42 year old history teacher.

Just another day in my line of work.