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."
