Hank Conan Episode 1

Hank Conan Episode 2
Hank Conan Episode 4
Hank Conan Episode 5
Hank Conan Episode 6

(EPISODE THREE - VIV AND LET DIE.)

 

How the hell was I supposed to know that Jocelyn was an undercover FBI agent? None of my contacts in the Feds mentioned anything about an investigation into the ‘mob’. I suppose I couldn’t be too harsh in condemning them - in the past they’ve been remarkably accurate in their information on cut-price coffee and tea bags, and their recommendations on the best disinfectant for sprucing up the kitchen floor. Maybe it wasn’t time to kick ass just yet - good contacts are hard to come by. Or so I’ve heard.

That’s one of the things about being a P.I., though. After a while you’d think that you’d get hardened to the misery, drudgery and sheer brutality of life: the way that some people treat their fellow human beings; the depths that some low-lives will stoop to, to secure their own, pathetic little patch of God’s good earth; the people that some are willing to sell, and the price they’re willing to sell them for! It makes you question what happened to mutual respect, to the thought that we’re all in this together and if we don’t pull together then we all go down!

Well screw ‘em!

One thing about that case that really did depress me: Jocelyn never told me he was a Fed!

That’s another one of the things about being a P.I. - nobody trusts you. I don’t know why some people decide to come into this game but I guess it’s only a short step from being the fantasy of thousands of nubile, teenage temptresses who watch the stereotype pulp detectives on the big-screen with their fast cars and even faster women; from living a fabulously wealthy life style while jetting across continents to gather evidence - to being a washed-out cynic with no social or home life; nothing in the bank; car on its last legs; no little woman to come home to when you feel like the world has just kicked you, yet again, while you were down. (Not even a big woman to come home to, thinking about it.) No wonder some people end up sending off $1095 for Stool-pigeon Stella - The Private Dick’s Inflatable Friend. No secrets between you and her. Those deep, brown, fathomless eyes. The sharp crackle of static electricity as you slowly peel off the free nylon camisole set. The way the light rainbows off the slick sheen of baby oil on rubber. And those boobs! Or so I’ve heard...

Excuse me a moment..............

 

 

Back to Home Page Back to Contents Page On to Page 2