In the the new, out with the old...

So, Dear Reader, you might recall I was feeling a little hurt because I had been described as 'rough-looking'... Well, turns out he might have been right!

You see, one of my favourite pieces of kit is my 5.11 Tactical Covert Vest which allows me to cram all kinds of toys tools into its myriad pockets.

The problem is that this has been my favourite piece of kit for almost 8 years and it was starting to look decidedly shabby. Worse, holes were appearing and things had a tendency to just fall out.

Um, yeah, I really was that rough-looking guy.

Threats, paranoia, and sartorial style

This morning I received a call from Tony*, a client for whom I have done a few jobs previously. You can read about the first time here, which should give you some kind of indication as to the problems Tony has been having.

Tony has a small contracting company, TWA*. Given the nature of the industry, finding suitable employees has been a bit of a challenge for Tony, and some of his hiring decisions made have come back to haunt him - particularly when his erstwhile employees have been stealing from the company or the clients.

Just the day before I had backed Tony up in a carpark meeting with another recently-fired employee. Tony said he wanted me there to 'document the proceedings' but I think he really wanted me there if the proverbial shit hit that fan since there had been threats.

It didn't. At least not right then.

So then I received that phone call from Tony, clearly nervous...

Surprise! Or maybe not...

Seems like I'm always the last to know but about a year ago Forbes published an article on the 10 most surprisingly low-paying jobs. 

Compiled from data sourced from the US Bureau of Labour Statistics, Forbes determined that to make the list the average pay of employees had to be under US$50,000 per annum yet commonly perceived as being more lucrative than in actuality.

Private investigators made the list.

Of course the criteria for selection were entirely subjective and based on what the writers thought the various occupations were worth. Ironically, and yet somewhat satisfyingly, reporters also made the list.

Perhaps someone at Forbes was angling for a pay rise?

The Informant

I heard her before I saw her. 

Her heels on the cobblestones sharp in the otherwise muted sounds of another fog-shrouded night at the docklands.      

Click clack, click clack.

I checked my watch one last time; ten to midnight. Right on schedule. A solitary dark figure loomed out of the mist ahead of me and stopped, one hand hidden from view in her coat pocket. 

"Are you the dick?" she asked.

That's never how it happens.