>Norway 13.05.99
>

It was an ordinary day in Oslo - the coffee machine was broken and my
secretary had quit again. I was just about to take my usual siesta when she
walked in...

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> I was just about to take my usual siesta when she
> walked in...

"Tired?", she inquired.  "Maybe a little", I replied, "but nothing a little
lovin' wouldn't fix."  She smiled coyly, before reminding me that my 
impotence problems had not been responding to my current course
of medication.  "Ever hang around the gymnasium", I asked casually.
But before she could reply, the door burst open, and there he stood.
We both stared in shock, unsure what to say or do...

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>But before she could reply, the door burst open, and there he stood.
>We both stared in shock, unsure what to say or do...

The stranger strode to the centre of the room, and produced from his
large bag a square box. He slammed it onto the desk, before placing
his face an inch from mine and sneering 'Are you gonna pay for this
fucking pizza or what, mate?'...

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>...sneering 'Are you gonna pay for this
>fucking pizza or what, mate?'...

"Excuse me, but didn't you used to be the old Nicky Tillsley in
Coronation Street?" I said
"Yes, the fucking cunts sacked me, and now I deliver pizzas for a
living. It makes me want to don a black trenchcoat and teach those
bastards at Granada a lesson."
"Oh and that'll be £5 by the way"

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>"Oh and that'll be £5 by the way"

You could have stripped paint with his breath and he had a face that even
his mother couldn't love. I dug out ten bucks and threw it across the table.
"And I'll take the change, Bub", I snarled.
"Sure", he replied as he slid his hand inside his jacket. It was then I
realised that something was wrong...

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>"Sure", he replied as he slid his hand inside his jacket. It was then I
>realised that something was wrong...

That bag! It had emblazoned on the side of it 'What is your opinion of
CheeseandTomatoPizza?' Sjoo! I pushed her to the ground, to avoid the
hail of nested replies to his own messages that my Nordic Nemesis
sprayed across the room...

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>...to avoid the
>hail of nested replies to his own messages that my Nordic Nemesis
>sprayed across the room...


I pulled out my gun and aimed it at his heart. "Okay Brolin", I whispered,
"This is where you meet your elk."
The bullet hit his chest just above his fat gut. He jerked back out of the
door and fell to the ground. The floor boards cracked under the weight of
his lifeless carcass. There was no doubt about it - he was as dead as
Arsenal's title hopes. I looked at his face - it had a child like quality -
I wept silently for the loss of youth and for my lack of guilt. How did I
become so cold? One man changed my life - one man had ruined this former
priest for good. I cursed the name of Sjoo. I thought I had seen the last of
him after the Ramsey Street Kangaroo incident but I was wrong. After all
this time he was back. I knew what I had to do...

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>After all
>this time he was back. I knew what I had to do...

I put her in a cab... this had to be done alone. I packed the poor
boy-child into a spare hot-air balloon I happened to have, and
struggled downstairs with him. With much struggling, I managed to get
him into the back of my battered old Studebaker, and set off for the
empty lot round the back of Mauro's bar...

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>and set off for the
>empty lot round the back of Mauro's bar...

Mauro's was the kind of bar where the bouncers searched you for weapons - if
you didn't have any they wouldn't let you in. Men were men there and so were
the women. Singles night was never very popular.
The owner was a former farmer, a man called Ali McLeod, although he was know
as Sammy. He had won a small fortune betting on relegation for Dunfermline
and has sunk the lot into the bar. I left Brolin's still warm body in the
back of the car and wandered into the bar.
Sammy was rewinding a video of the recent Man United game. I had missed this
game due to a heavy case the previous day and I was keen to see it. "Hey,
Sammy", I tried to be as casual as possible, "That the Man U game?". He
grunted a response which I took to be a yes - English wasn't his first
language. "I wanted to watch that - say do me a favour - Play it again Sam".
His response set me rocking back on my heels...

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>His response set me rocking back on my heels...

Sammy rose to his feet and looked at me with contempt. He reached for
the zipper on his furry forehead and pulled it down. As the two halves
of the crass bear costume fell to the floor, I discovered the truth.
Sammy is in fact a 6 foot tall black boxer.
"Man, I'm going to the wrong parties" I said......

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>"Man, I'm going to the wrong parties" I said......

It was clear that the absinth had kicked in - I was hallucinating and too
many things were happening too fast. I had to try to focus. Sammy had yelled
"Get off my land" and his breath had melted my hat and forced me towards the
door. That much was clear. The unzipping could have happened but I didn't
look back. As I stumbled out into the night I passed Roy Keane on his way
in. I had left just in time - it was clear that there would be trouble in
Mauro's tonight.


I approached the car. Something was wrong - the door was open. I looked
inside and found that the body of Brolin was gone. All that was left was my
blood stained hot-air balloon and a note on the dashboard. I picked it up
and read it. It said...

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>I picked it up and read it. It said...

'Changing your name won't help you hide, Gumshoe.

Unless you want Brolin's body to end up on Inspector Allan's desk
Monday morning, complete with 6 of your personally monogrammed bullets
in his chest, you'll meet me in the speakeasy above Red Devil's Adult
Emporium and Stain Removal Parlour at midnight.

Come alone.'

Screwing the note up, I considered my options. Who knew? Who would use
this against me? The list was endless. I returned the Studebaker to
the street outside my office. Turning up my collar and heading for the
corner of RFC and 1036, I lit up a Camel. He punched me for trying it.
Nursing my split lip, I knocked on the unmarked black door next to the
luridly-patterned shop.

A large man in a bright red shirt let me in, and I climbed the narrow
staircase. The bar was closed, and all the lights were off. A
curiously distorted voice from behind me said 'Well, then, you made
it. Well done.'

Spinning, I saw a figure in silhouette, speaking into a microphone
through some sort of voice-changing equipment. The voice continued.

'I have some jobs for you...'