I yelled at the veritable mangina that was my office assistant Stibble.
I felt I had been neglecting my Parliamentary duties somewhat of late and had popped into my constituency office for one of my drop-in sessions. The pesky events where the assembled peonry of my constituency can pop in and tell me of their woes.
Stibble opened the door to my office and ushered in a grey-bearded, crazy looking fellow.
This is Colin Thoms, milord. He refuses to declare his business.
Declared Stibble with the squeaking bravado of a fingered moorhen.
I grinned wolfishly at this Mr Thoms before waving a dismissive hand to Stibble. He retreated, closing the door with a quiet snick.
Please sit, Mr Thoms and perhaps you will grace me with the reason for your visit.
Mr Thoms held my eye and smiled a cold smile.
Aye. Perhaps I will, perhaps I will.
He pulled out the chair before my desk and sat. He looked both fidgety and smug. I cast a vinegar eye up and down him. Something wasn't quite right about the fellow. There was a palpable menace to him.
In fact, the very air reeked of danger.
I felt a quickening in my Jack Reacher and swiftly sat down on the opposite side of my desk, pulling out my pipe and loading her up with some baccy.
It was a fine shag as they say on the high seas, Eileen's Crumb. The burning of which sent out a heavy scent of coal-blackness and rot.
Out with it then.
I didn't have all day. There was whiskey to be drunk and fillies to be gentled.
Your security is shit.
Leered Mr Thoms as he cast his gaze about the office.
Security? But I am an elected man of the people. Why would I need security?
I wrinkled my brow fondly as if he were a new puppy that had peed on the carpet.
Mr Thoms reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a handgun. It was very new looking, it's barrel glistened with oil like a sailors penis after fucking a halibut.
This is why, you government bastard.
He spat, his face contorted with a mad hatred.
Is that a gun in your hand or are you just pleased to see me?
I couldn't help but giggle.
What? You taking the piss? I am going to fucking kill you and you think you can joke?
He stood and motioned with the gun for me to stand also. Which I did.
Are going to kill me with the gun or bore me to death?
I asked politely.
You smarmy bastard!? You don't think I'm serious? On your knees, now.
Mr Thoms pulled at a different pocket and produced a cheap looking mobile phone. He thumbed at the side of it and grinned victoriously as, possibly for the first time in his life, something responded to his crude fingering.
I'm gonna film you begging for mercy and then BLAM! if you do as you are told it will be quick.
He waggled the gun at me again.
On your fucking knees, government man.
Alright then, just one thing though. Can I check the time on my new watch?
Without waiting for his answer I tugged at the chain of my new watch, Dobbers Probability Preponderance Cipher.
I studied the face of it.
Look at that, there is the very tiniest possibility you are overcome with remorse and guilt at what you are about to do and turn the gun on yourself!? Fancy that.
I chuckled and tapped the face of the TimePiece.
What the blithering fuck were you talking about? I don't... I... Oh God... What sorry combination of fortune has led me down this path? What am I doing. I must end this.
Mr Thoms turned the gun slowly upwards and place it under his chin. I fancied I saw a gleam of comprehension in his eyes.
Stibble came rushing in, gawping at the bloodied ruin of Mr Thoms head, his body stretched out on the floor.
Oh my word, Milord, are you ok? What happened here? What possessed him?
I took a happy puff from my pipe.
What possessed him? Well, Stibble, old fellow. I am afraid I couldn't say, after all...