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   Chapter 9 No.9

The Time Saving Agency By Christina Engela Characters: 5749

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02

"No, just drunk on duty and AWOL. Repeat offender. Apparently he's from the I.S.S. Antares." She explained, pointing up, "He disappeared a few days ago while on guard duty at the spaceport."

Hmm, the P.I. in him wondered, how did they know he was drunk if he disappeared? Never mind that, the bounty hunter in him answered, let's just find him and let them worry about that little issue. Anyway two thousand is two thousand. Besides, a drunk is easier to carry in than an axe murderer. Now, where to start? The spaceport seemed a likely place. Thanking Peggy-Ann and wishing her a speedy recovery, he left her sitting at her table, massaging her temples with her thumbs. She sighed. This job was going to make her old before her time. As it was she'd just had to buy her first tube of anti-ageing face cream last week – and the experience was almost as embarrassing as the first time she had to get The Pill as a teenager. No, even more so.

A few minutes later, her com-link beeped. She touched the answer pad. It was a tinny voice, rather strangely distorted.

"What am I?" She asked the voice in frustration, "His freakin' agent?"

* * *

Corporal Marius Glent, currently absent without leave, awoke just in time to avoid drowning in his own drool. He sat up instantly, coughing and spluttering. He tried to rub his eyes with one hand while trying to scratch his ass with the other, but for some reason this didn't seem to be working. Opening his aching eyes at last, he discovered why. Handcuffs tended to prevent things like that from happening, in fact that was something of a design feature.

Shocked and surprised, he looked round. A man was sitting there, grinning at him from behind a flashlight, a man

ck landed lightly beside him and holstered his sidearm.

"Now, now." He said reprimanding Frank. "Let's play nice. There was no call for that, was there?"

Frank just growled as Gary helped his prisoner to his feet and led him out from behind the bar.

"Don't forget to give Space Fleet the list of shortages that fella drank!" The other barman called after him. Yes, that was another matter Captain Horst Van Der Ku would be more than a little unhappy about – but that wasn't going to be his problem.

"Three cheers for Beck the Badfeller, hip-hip!" Someone cried in the throng. Escorting the handcuffed, bedraggled and hung over Corporal Glent away from the staring or cheering customers at the spaceport bar to the sound of a barrage of "hooray's" was a chore, but a rather entertaining one. As they left the lounge area, the cheers faded away. Back outside, he bundled Glent into his Jeepo and settled in behind the wheel. A short drive later, he pulled into a parking space outside the main Sheriff's Office. Setting his foot down on the ground, something squeaked and promptly tried to eviscerate his foot. He shook it off his boot.

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